Eyes of Red, Heart of Gold
by Nerdymum
Summary: When the "new guy" arrives at the X-Manor, Adaliah Gregg, aka Tsunami, discovers that the charming, sexy Cajun known as Gambit just may be the kind of man she needs to help her gain confidence in her talents. But the Brotherhood's been seen in New Orleans, leaving breadcrumbs that begin revealling some clues into Remy's shady past. Can the X-Men look beyond his sins?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The New Guy

The library was usually quiet this time of the day. Classes were beginning to wind down which meant she could relax and finish her tasks. Adaliah Gregg started her end-of-day chores by checking in the returned books and throwing them onto the wheeled cart to be placed back onto the many shelves of the school's vast collection. A couple students were in the room, researching for their term papers but she paid them no mind. According to her, even if the school day was over the library never closed and she was all too happy to help.

The sound of the Blackbird hissing as it landed on the launch pad meant that the Team was back from New Orleans. She peeked out the window and stared down at the large black jet, watching the group plus one new face step out. She knew that Charles sent them out to "collect" a possibly potential member but tried not to show her curiosity.

She tried to be on the Team a few times in the past and it never suited her well. No matter how often Jean or Scott or even Logan (of all people to be a promoter) tried to get her to come along during missions, Adaliah was all too happy to remain at the Xavier Institute of Higher Learning. It wasn't that her talent was unable to tame; quite the contrary. The students had given her the name "Tsunami" due to her ability to control water in any form and in any amount. She was often a favorite during the hot summer months when she transformed the large pool into a temporary "ocean" by creating simple waves for their amusement.

But it was when faced with anxiety and tension that she lost her grip on her talents. A simple whirlpool became a devastating death trap. A gentle current became a massive tidal wave. While she had seen Emma several times during therapy sessions for the anxiety she couldn't quite control her emotions during crucial moments. It was this handicap which kept her from volunteering for Team missions.

Besides, the library was quiet and it felt good to be needed as a mentor for the kids.

She watched Scott, Hank, and Ororo walk toward the manor followed by the "new guy". Fascination took over and she leaned in closer. He walked with the gait of a proud horse; long, cocky strides which caused his ankle-length brown duster to flare out behind him like a cape. The afternoon sun shone on his bright pink breastplate, blinding her for a second. She grunted in surprise and squinted, stepping back and saw the illusion of green dots inside her eyelids from the stunning flash.

"The X-Men are back, aren't they?" one student asked looking up from her books.

"Yes, Misty, they are," she replied and discovered that she was soon crowded at the table by the other three present in the room, every eye focused on the scene below.

"A new mutant!" Brian, a young man with the power to harness radio waves, whispered. "Awesome!"

"Check out that costume!" Misty commented and giggled. "He's kinda hot from this angle."

"What do you think his powers are?" Faith, a young woman who could bend light, asked.

"The ability to look like a badass!" Brian joked.

The "new guy" turned his head and focused on the window where the four watched him and smiled a crooked grin while waving his hand. The students laughed and waved back.

"Alright, guys; break time's over. Finish your studies; you have fifteen minutes before school ends," Adaliah informed and heard the disappointed sighs from her company as they went back to their tables. She remained at the window, thinking that he had left but felt a chagrined blush rise up her cheeks when she realized he was still staring up at her. He offered her a low, gentlemanly but showy bow, his smile growing. Ashamed of her gawking, she slowly ducked behind the thick drapes and hid away.

O . . . O . . . O

"Remy Etienne Lebeau," Jean read off her tablet.

Adaliah cocked an eyebrow as she threw down three eights from her hand. She and two other women were seated at the gaming table in the recreational room sharing drinks, cards for "Gin Rummy", and amusing stories about their classes.

"Is that your favorite new French designer for handbags?" she teased.

Jean chuckled and sipped from her glass of sangria.

"No, smartass, that's the name of the 'new guy'. From New Orleans, ex-member of the Thieves Guild, had ties to the Assassins Guild at one point."

"Yep, there's an upstanding citizen," Adaliah snorted then elbowed Emma. "Your turn."

"He's reformed; he said about five years ago something made him change his mind. I didn't get a good look at what that was but I'm sure we'll eventually find that out," Jean put her tablet down and picked her hand of cards back up.

"Prison can do that," Emma joked. "Or some of the things that can happen to you in prison, perhaps."

"And I thought I was the dark-humored one," Adaliah shook her head at her flaxen-haired friend.

"You still reign as champion in that title, darling," Emma smiled.

"So, what's the reason Charles thought this guy needed to be plucked out of the Big Easy?"

"Actually, he found out how to contact us," Jean revealed. "Through certain links he tracked us down, said he wanted to help out a good cause."

"Or it's a trap," Adaliah suggested. "How many people just announce to us 'hey, I was once bad but now I'm good! I want to lend a hand!'"

"Actually, Ada, not this time," said Emma. "Jean, Charles, and I all did our own mental analysis of him and not a single one of us discovered any bit of deception to him. His past is a bit, well, shadowed, staticky in a way, but as of this current situation he is being honest. We each sensed fear, although he's hiding that rather well."

"If he can hide the past, don't you think you can hide the present?"

"From most telepaths, yes, but Charles is the most powerful telepath on this planet. Lebeau can't everything from him. If Charles says he's okay then I can offer my trust," Jean grabbed a card from the draw pile.

"What is his power?"

"Mental manipulation and control of potential kinetic energy. He can concentrate it from any tangible source and do whatever he wishes with it. Ororo reported that he likes to take playing cards, 'charge them', and use them as forms of explosives, similar to grenades. I am sure he can do much more than that."

"A walking nuclear reactor. Just what we need in a school for mutant children," Adaliah remarked snidely.

"Or he could end up being a very powerful ally to us," Emma suggested.

"Alright, fine. I'll stop playing devil's advocate. Gin," Adaliah announced and spread her cards on the table much to Emma and Jeans dismay.

"I am so glad we don't play for money," Emma pouted. "I'd be a very poor woman."

"Speaking of powerful allies," Jean began as she recorded their scores, "are you ever going to come back to the Team?"

Adaliah looked over at her friends and felt a surge of anxiety grip at her guts.

"You know I can't do that, Jean. Remember what happened last time? I nearly got a lot of people killed."

"That could've happened to anyone."

"But it happened to me. I was the one controlling that wave. If it wasn't for you and Storm- God! I don't even want to think about what could've happened," her voice trailed away.

"No one blames you for that accident."

Adaliah snorted in derision and shook her head, golden brown ponytail smacking over her shoulders. "No one but the City of New York and the politicians who are desperate to find any kind of excuse to lock-up every single mutant in a compound. When I'm under that kind of pressure I'm dangerous."

"But look at all the opportunities you could have at helping people! Darling, you control water!" Emma suggested passionately. "As easy as it is for you to create a, well, a tsunami, you could just as well stop one. You could pull groundwater up from the earth and help millions of people dying of thirst. The bloody surface of this little wet ball in the galaxy is nearly covered by the stuff. Seventy percent! And it's all yours to command."

"No, I don't command anything, Emma. I barely have control over the damn sprinkler system in this place."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic! You're a force to be reckoned with."

"Tell that to the people who were in that charter boat," Adaliah mumbled darkly.

"You didn't kill anyone, Tsunami! You were able to control it; I saw it! I saw the determination on your face to hold that tidal wave and you did! You can do it."

"I made a fucking mess of New York Bay! It should never have happened!" the petite woman slapped her hands on the table.

Jean stared at her glass and watched the sangria begin to swirl and whirl around, forming a small whirlpool. Faster and faster the liquid spun until it pushed with a tremendous amount of force and blew out the sides, sending the sangria splashing all over the green felt of the table.

"Okay, Ada," she reached for her friend's trembling hands, "we'll stop. Won't we, Emma?"

Emma nodded and, with her left hand transformed into diamond, she helped pick up the broken glass.

"My most sincere apologies," she offered.

Adaliah sighed and sank down in her chair, ashamed of her loss of control.

"Let's just do another round of cards, okay?"

O . . . O . . . O

Most of those living in the manor, which included the school staff, the students, and even a few of those permanently on the Team, should've been asleep. She snuck down into the kitchen and grabbed her secret stash of cognac hidden in Logan's humidor. The rich amber liquid flowed easily into the glass and filled her with a sense of contentment as the spicy scent of oak-aged alcohol filled her nostrils.

She was just about to take a sip when the sound of someone whistling Led Zeppelin's "Black Dog" down the hall interrupted her. The shadow transformed into the form of a tall, well-built man wearing a black tank top, knee-worn jeans, and a smile one would imagine would be on the face of a satisfied fox.

"Bonsoir," he greeted and flicked his unusual eyes up and down as he gazed upon her figure.

Adaliah smiled weakly and nodded.

"Evening," she returned.

Out of his armored uniform, Remy Lebeau looked relatively human, she noticed. A fairly handsome, tightly-muscled, red-irised human…

"So many new people t'meet! But I remember you, lookin' down on me like a princess in her tower," he flirted.

A blush rose in her cheeks and she dropped her gaze down to her untouched glass. She pursed her lips to hide the smile that was trying to crawl up her face.

"Whas yo name, chere?" She watched him approach the bar, with the gait of a hunter, and casually lean over it.

"Adaliah Gregg," she replied calmly and offered her hand.

"Adaliah," he breathed seductively, tasting her name.

She was expecting him to do something stupid, such as kiss her hand, but was pleasantly surprised when he simply shook it.

"Remy Lebeau," he introduced. "A pleasure t'meet you. Other than spy on new folk, what is yo' designation here?"

"I'm the school's librarian."

"Ah!" he sang. "A bonafide book worm, eh?"

"Something like that," she shrugged and watched him sit down on the barstool across from her.

"You de charitable type?" he eyed the glass in her grasp.

Adaliah grabbed another snifter from the cabinet and poured a small dram for her company. As much as she coveted her prized bottle of XO Hennessey, she wasn't about to be stingy and not share. It certainly wouldn't make her look like a kind, generous person she prided herself to be.

"Merci beaucoup, Madame!" he thanked her and held the snifter aloft. "We make a toast?"

"Sure."

"To new acquaintances, may dey become more den a friendly pass-by," he winked.

"Cheers," she touched the edge of her glass to his.

"Salut!"

She sipped the golden drink and held it in her mouth for a few seconds, allowing the sophisticated taste roll over and over on her tongue before slowly swallowing the small amount, each drop warming her throat and chest. When she opened her eyes she discovered that she was being watched by her companion with open intrigue.

"You got 'spensive taste. Don' know many women who like brandy much, 'specially cognac."

"Consider yourself lucky; I don't give it out to just anyone."

A wicked grin crept up his mouth, deepening the dimple in his right cheek. He plopped his stubbly jaw into an open palm and regarded her with the same hunger a predator uses when tracking its prey.

"We still talkin' 'bout brandy?"

Adaliah opened her mouth, then firmly shut it when she realized that she had no comeback for the flirtatious jab. Her cheeks flushed a dark red and her smile, which up until that point she had done so well at harnessing, broke free and beamed brightly. She was thoroughly embarrassed yet, as much as she hated to admit it, flattered.

"Okay, then!" she took another sip and tried not to choke on it.

Remy chuckled and ran a hand through his jagged, chin-length hair.

"Ah, I just playin' wit'cha, chere. Mo chagren."

"It's okay," she waved her embarrassment away despite the remaining pink glow on her cheeks. "I, uh, I have a bad habit of saying the worst things."

"But a'least I gotta laugh outta ya, non?"

A genuine, comforted smile softened her features. For a brief second she studied his face, memorizing the crooked yet handsome smile on his mouth and the cheery yet playful glitter in his bright ruby eyes. There were plenty of good-looking men around the X-Men compound, many had become good friends with her, but there was something about him. It was hard not to like him; he was incredibly charming.

"Yeah, you did."

O . . . O . . . O

The big subject of the day was the upcoming Spring Formal dance for the school. Whether it was girls showing each other magazine pictures of "their" dress or boys discussing their plans for after the event, the halls were filled with more chatter than usual.

Adaliah absently flipped the body of the little hula girl she kept on her desk, a little present from Emma when they took a holiday to Hawaii. Fruity drinks and bad dancing at the luau was involved, and Ada didn't have the heart to throw away the "generous" gift Ms. Frost bestowed upon her during the flight home. She watched the plastic doll waddle back and forth on her base and tried to think of something that would help her get her mind off Remy.

After the cognac was enjoyed, he politely walked her back to her room and kissed her hand as he bid her "good night". The last thing she saw before the door closed were those gleaming red eyes. She felt her heart flutter and her palms sweat, and, in the privacy of her room, she allowed her head to loll back and rapidly fanned herself.

"Oh my Lord, he's hot!" she swooned into her armchair.

She thought that her little "fit" would have eased her sudden attack of lust, but, unfortunately, she found that she was inundated with schoolgirl-styled daydreams and even some very adult fantasies. An attempt to create new emails to the students who had books due that day gave her something to do for about fifteen minutes that morning. It suddenly became a huge task to keep her concentration. The coffee only made her more jittery and caused her to fumble with any writing implement on her desk.

"Um, Ms. Gregg?" the soft voice of Misty ripped her back to reality and, under the pressure of her left index finger, the little hula girl went flying across the library.

She watched the doll soar toward the non-fiction section, wiggling all the while, then land right side up, unscathed, on the Oriental rug. Ada covered her mouth and bit down on her lips to keep from laughing out loud.

"Yes, dear?" she asked the girl and attempted to wrangle back her pride.

Misty looked from the hula girl back to the librarian who had been acting strange all day and smiled weakly.

"Mr. Rasputin said you could help me with some of my art history?"

"Oh!" Ada snapped to attention and was thankful that she finally had something she could put her energy toward. "Sure, sweetie. Show me what you have."

Misty sat down at Ada's desk and the two began to discuss the subject of Impressionism. Eager to help the girl with her homework, the librarian searched through the nonfiction section, standing on her tiptoes to grab the book on Claude Monet. The shelf proved to be just an inch too short for her reach, so she attempted to stretch as far as she could, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth during her attempt.

The little hula girl, however, had different plans for Ada, and caused the poor woman to stumble and begin falling as she stepped onto the doll's base. With a shriek of surprise, and a flailing of her arms, she prepared herself for the descent. Two strong arms caught her under her armpits, immediately halting the tumble.

"Careful, chere, you gonna break somethin'!" the velvet-rich voice warned. "Dough, Gambit not opposed t' playin' doctor," he whispered in her ear.

Ada's turquoise eyes flared open as her cheeks flushed scarlet once again. Her heartbeat sped up and her mouth went desert-dry. She steadied herself back onto her feet, empty hands fumbling inside her trouser pockets.

"Th-thank you," she stuttered, trying her best not to meet his warm gaze.

"Sho ting, belle. Glad I came in at de right time, non? By th'way," he reached down and picked up the offending hula girl, "dere a reason why you keep dis on th'floor?"

Ada grabbed the doll from his hand and shrugged, openly embarrassed.

"I, uh, it's a long story. Well, not really a long story, per se, but a stupid story not really worth telling, so… yeah."

"Mais, I think I'd like t'hear it anyway," he flashed his foxy smirk.

He reached up and grabbed the book she had been after, carefully placing it in her arms.

"Um, wh-what are you doing in here?" she asked after thanking him again.

"Dis a library, oui? I reckon dere a book or two in here dat keep me comp'ny. Or dis only fo' th'kids?"

"Well, normally, yes, but the faculty makes use of it, too. Anything I can help you find?"

Remy took a second to scan the shelf next to him and grabbed a random book.

"How 'bout dis?" he held it aloft and watched Ada's left brow slowly rise up her forehead.

"Stephen Hawking?" she asked skeptically.

"Whut? Boys from de Bayou not allowed t'like physics?" he shot her an insulted regard.

"Oh, um, s-sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Remy chuckled and placed a hand on her drooped shoulder.

"I just jokin', cha! Don' pay me no mind."

She nodded and stepped back to place the Monet book down onto a nearby table.

"Anything else I can help you find?"

"No, I think I take Dr. Hawking back to m'room and learn mo' 'bout de universe. You got work of y'own to tend to, I get out of yo' pretty hair," he flirted.

"Well, okay. It's due back in two weeks," she warned with a smile.

"Don' you worry, chere. I bring it back soon. Maybe t'morrow when you off de clock," he murmured against her cheek.

He turned away, greeted Misty in a jovial tone, then flashed a wink back to Ada before exiting the room.

Sighing lingeringly, Adaliah went back to her desk and plopped down the Monet book before Misty.

A knowing smile pulled on the girl's face. Misty's talent was an extreme form of synesthesia. Not only could she smell emotions, including detect faint pheromones and hormones in others, but she could also smell illnesses near her.

"He likes you, a lot!"

"He's a flirt and a half," Ada grumbled.

"Yeah, but, I can tell, you know," the girl pointed to her nose.

Ada felt her cheeks blush again, and she cleared her throat, pulling her brow into a disapproving scowl.

"I believe we are helping you with your homework, Miss Hillard," she said sternly.

Misty nodded and tried to conceal her grin.

"Oh, um, you might want to start taking more Vitamin C. There's a rhinovirus in the vent system."

"Thanks for the warning," Ada mumbled and began to help Misty with her paper.

In the back of her mind she kept hearing Remy's seductive whisper promising to see her again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Pursuitin'

It was always the same dream. For most people, it should've been a nightmare but for her there was a strange sense of comfort. Again, she was standing on a bridge reaching out across the ocean. She could see the curvature of the Earth the further out she looked toward the horizon. Her hands lifted, starting from her hips, slowly past her waist, until her arms were stretched out into a horizontal line at her shoulders. The pulling from the salt-rich water below was intoxicating, the feel of control, power…

The bridge groaned beneath her feet, twisting and fighting the strength of the rising ocean until the part she was standing on snapped and began to sink.

She should have been afraid. She should have panicked knowing that she couldn't breathe.

The current pulsing around her, the circular path of the waves rolling her over and over, filled her with wonder and joy. This was her domain, her empire. Thrusting her fists above her head, the ocean parted into two massive walls, leaving her in the center unscathed. She could feel every molecule sing praises in her name. A victorious laugh escaped her throat and she threw her head in ecstasy.

_Goddess_, they called her. Mother, they cried out. The heartbeat of the world rested in the palms of her hands. She could destroy everything with a flick of her wrist, sending massive, genocidal waves across the globe if she wanted. The oceans would obey her every whim. Humanity would kowtow to her. Every breath of life would be hers to own.

_Goddess!_ The screams deafened her and the walls began to close in. Closer and closer they came, trapping her beneath the surface, filling her lungs with brine. Still she laughed, allowing the millions of gallons of seawater to consume her…

_Goddess…_

She awoke with a snort, then wrinkled her nose in disgust when she felt the pool of saliva soaking her pillow stick to her cheek. The sound of the alarm clock crowing its annoying buzz forced her to roll over and slam her lazy fingers onto the snooze button. She rubbed her hands over her face, waking herself slowly by stretching her arms and legs, yawning widely, until she sat up and shot a glare at the green LCD panel of the clock.

"It's 6:46," it seemed to display smugly, reminding her that she needed to get out of bed.

"I will never like you," she grumbled at the inanimate object.

Its response was to change the last six to a seven.

"Okay, okay. Fine."

Her hands combed through her slightly tangled hair, catching a few knots in the process while she stumbled toward her closet and grabbed a set of clothes. After a quick shower and a light application of make-up to her face, she headed for the kitchen in search of breakfast. She met a few other members of the faculty, greeting them as warmly as she possibly could manage before her mandatory dose of caffeine was consumed.

"You had that dream again, didn't you?" Emma asked quietly while Adaliah stood at the toaster waiting for her bagel to pop up.

"I told you not to go snooping around my head," Ada grumbled.

"Darling, I keep trying to tell you, embrace it! When you dream of the ocean that's the only time you are truly happy and in control of your anxiety."

"I become a crazy megalomaniac in that dream!"

"But you are confident, powerful, and you know that you could be that person during your waking hours."

Ada shot her friend a warning scowl and walked toward the refrigerator, bagel retrieved from the toaster.

"I'm not talking about this now!"

"But you need to, my dear. You know my office is always open, should you choose to want to discuss this matter," Emma offered kindly.

Adaliah dropped her head back and groaned loudly.

"Who put the cream cheese container back after taking the last of it?" she held up the empty bowl as evidence.

"Scott did it," Jean openly accused, pointing a finger at her red-spectacled husband.

Scott Summers, aka Cyclops, looked up from his own bagel breakfast and smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, Ada," he shrugged.

Sighing in frustration, Ada grabbed her milk-laden coffee and her naked bagel before stomping out of the kitchen, muttering "how someone so smart could be so damn stupid".

"Not a mornin' person, is ya, chere?" Remy spoke up in the dark shadows of the hallway, causing her to nearly spill her coffee.

"Oh, God! I didn't see you there," she attempted to catch her breath.

"I'm good at hide and seek," he grinned. "Wanna play?"

Her blush returned and she cast her sight down to her feet.

"You're really something, you know. Flirting with a woman you know next to nothing about."

"Gambit know enough, for now. I know your name, where you work, someone tole me you can tame water. Dat true?"

"I tame water?" she stifled a laugh.

"Das what I hear," he walked down the hall with her.

"The simplest explanation is I can control all water-based liquids."

"Now, dat's somethin' I never seen. Kinda like to see it one day, non?"

"I, uh, I don't know," she shrugged absently.

"Well, ev'ryone else here gotta codename, what's yours?"

"The kids started calling me Tsunami a few years ago. It was a joke at first but it kinda stuck."

"Tsunami," he rubbed his chin in thought. "Can ya do one o'dose?"

Flashbacks of the tidal wave she created in New York Bay played in her mind. She could still hear the screams of the tourists falling out of the carter boat, the ominous chopping of the news helicopters above the scenario…

"Yeah, I can," she nodded slowly, her voice weakened by her growing anxiety.

Sensing her anxiety, Remy grabbed the coffee mug from her hand and smiled warmly. It was a much different look on his features, softening the sharpness of his lips and eyes. He appeared honest and sincere.

"We talk about somethin' else, oui?"

"Sure," she nodded and returned the smile.

"You got someone t'hold ya at night?"

"N-no," she stuttered.

"You lookin'?" he eyed her with curiosity, foxy grin returning.

"Are you asking me out, Lebeau?"

"Depends, chere. You want a lil fun, or a lot, I be happy to oblige," he handed her back the mug.

They stopped at the library door. Adaliah glanced down the hall, silently thankful she didn't see any of the students.

"M-may I think about it?"

Remy nodded and flipped a lock of her hair off her shoulder.

"I wait for ya, belle," he whispered and started back down the hallway.

Ada laughed to herself and shook her head as she walked into the large area of her domain. Somehow the issue with having no cream cheese wasn't quite as bad as she thought.

O . . . O . . . O

He flipped open the lid on the Zippo lighter with a suit of four aces etched into the metal casing, and struck the flint to ignite the wick. A bright yellow flash hissed at the tip of the cigarette held tight in his lips, momentarily turning the exposed tobacco into a bright orange ember until he snapped the lid shut and flipped the lighter into his coat pocket. The sudden rush of nicotine tingling in his blood eased the nervousness that had built up. He stared down at the lit end, flicked the ashes from it, and snorted in derision at himself.

"Y'know, I had promised m'self tree year ago I quit dis shit, an' evry damn time I think I got it t'gether, I find myself in need for one. So, I says to m'self, Gambit, keep 'em in yer pocket 'cause sumthin' bound t'make you want a smoke. Dis the first one I had in a year."

"New surroundings gotcha tensed?" Scott, who was busy cleaning up the carburetor in an old Triumph motorbike, asked after taking a pull from his bottle of beer. He was often found in the expansive garage fixing up the manor's collection of classic cars and bikes after the school day was over. He was also surprised to find Gambit pacing the garage perimeter and figured the "new guy" could use a friendly ear.

Remy smiled, exhaling a long, white trail of smoke from the corner of his mouth.

"You can say dat, homme. New faces t'try an' figure out; some seem nice, some not. Some I'm startin' t'take a likin' to. 'Specially dat pretty librarian."

"Adaliah? You like her, huh?"

"Mmm- dat girl, she gonna break my lil heart," he grinned wider, patting at his chest in a heartbeat rhythm.

"I'm surprised you'd go for that type. You seem like the kind of man who likes pretty faces and not much else," Scott wiped his grease-covered hands onto a dingy cotton cloth.

"Been wit all kinds of 'types' an' none of dem have hit me like her. Sumthin' 'bout her. Sure, dey is prettier girls 'round here, but," he shrugged. "Dunno. I like her, mo' dan I have most."

"I see," Scott replied before finishing his beer. "Me and a few of the guys are going to shoot some pool later. You in?"

Remy chuckled and regarded the leader of the Team with his charismatic smirk.

"You askin' de wrong man t'play dat game wit' you. Got in trouble once fo' hustlin' some folk who didn' like th'idea o' a lil kid takin' dem fo' deir last dollar."

"Suit yourself," he started for the door. "You know where to find me if you need anything."

"Oui, homme."

Remy glanced around at the vehicles lined up neatly in the garage, intrigued by the selection and the fact that each license plate had something to do with either with Team code names-such as CYCLOPS on Scott's torn-down Triumph- or had an X somewhere in the numbers.

He chuckled to himself and finished his cigarette, stepping out of the garage to throw away the butt into the nearby garbage can. His ruby eyes caught sight of the nearby flower gardens, focusing on one particular dark green-foliaged bush with brilliant red roses glowing in the amber light of the sunset. A sly grin snaked crooked up his mouth, deepening the dimple in his right cheek. He grabbed the ever-present pocketknife in his jeans and slowly approached the garden.

He had done a lot of stupid things in his past, many of them he wasn't too proud to admit and definitely a few he wished would never come back into his memory. Out of the collection there was a handful he could blame on his pursuit of female attention. Broken bones, punched jaws, even a beer bottle whacked against the back of his head (that was his fault and he would openly admit it), and lots of petty theft were involved.

"Ladies man" he had been called numerous times; included in that list was "heart-breaker", "gigolo" and, his personal favorite "you asshole!", but he hoped to get past all these monikers with Adaliah. He wasn't lying when he told Scott that he was fascinated by her. Maybe fascinated wasn't the right way to put his emotions…

"Admire," he whispered as he wiped the green fluid from his knife blade onto his thigh.

He glanced up at the windows on the second floor and smiled. Three windows over toward the left in the East Wing was "her" room. With the stolen rosebud in his grasp, he threw on his best smile and headed back to the manor.

But not before the rose bush got revenge for the thievery.

Remy jerked his arm back and winced in pain as an outstretching branch scolded him with a series of thick, sharp thorns.

"Ooh, ye! What dat fo? Not allowed t'give a belle femme a flower?" he asked the bush.

The bush never answered.

Rubbing his minor injury, he walked away, grumbling under his breath about "damn peekons!"

O . . . O . . . O

"Listen to this," Hank "Beast" McCoy began to the group of fellow faculty in the recreational room. "I posed this question to my anato-physiology students today: 'list the parts of the human body that are stimulated when pleasurable music is heard and how they are affected.' Now, most of my class answered fairly well. All except this one. 'I get a boner when I hear Rihanna on the radio because she's hot'. How am I supposed to respond to that?"

Those present burst out laughing but also shared Hank's lament.

"Well, technically he's not wrong," Jean shrugged and smiled.

Hank ran a hand through the long tufts of hair at his jaw and sighed wearily.

"Agreed, it's not an incorrect answer, but- the vulgarity! And if I let it go, it sends the message that he can get away with arrogant attitude. I am convinced the recent generations of youngsters are nothing more than self-important little narcissists who care if their selfies on Instagram are getting hits rather than worry if they'll graduate!"

"You know what Instagram is?" Emma asked teasingly.

"Ms. Frost, I may be old but I am not out of touch with modern society," he clarified while pushing his readers up his nose.

"Does that mean we'll find a Hank McCoy Twitter account where you discuss the biochemical responses to twerking?" Ada joked. " BlueBeast 'Going to a Miley Cyrus concert. For science.'"

More laughs filled the room.

"Young lady, if you're going to target me for humor's sake, then it is only fair that I return your parry. Rumor has it a certain individual who is native to Southern Louisiana has been looking to court you."

Ada's smile weakened slightly as her bright aqua-colored eyes met Hank's blue stare.

"Nothing ever stays secret around here, does it?" she looked over at Emma and Jean, the only two telepaths in the room.

"It wasn't either of us," Emma informed.

"He's been asking everyone about you," Ororo answered, looking up from her laptop. "He seems quite persistent."

Ada groaned and rubbed her forehead.

"Yeah, he is," she agreed. "I just don't know if I can trust him. He may know a little about me, but what do I know about him?"

"There is a way to find out," Hank smiled. "You could simply ask him. I'm guessing that's what most civilized people do when they're intrigued by another."

She nodded slowly and glanced down at her tablet stuck on a news feed where the subject was mutant hate crimes. Sighing in disgust, she swiped the page away and reopened a formal wear site. She had planned to help chaperone the Spring Formal and decided to buy something that would look appropriate for the soiree.

"Think I'm going to call it a night," she announced quietly.

Everyone bid her a good-evening as she walked out of the room, switching to a new conversation subject.

Outside her door, she caught sight of a long-stemmed red rose bud lying on the carpet. She glanced around, suspicious of who could have left it, then bent down to pick it up.

"Now I know how t'set a trap fo' ya, chere," Remy's voice carried to her from a nearby corner.

Ada smiled and stood back up to unlock her door.

"My weakness has been revealed," she said in a wry tone. "Does Kurt know you took one of his prized Lincoln tea roses?"

"He might," he appeared from the shadows and flashed his cocky grin. "You gonna tell'im?"

"It depends."

"On?"

"On what your intentions are with this rose," she buried her petite nose deep into the velvety, scarlet petals, breathing in deep the rich scent.

"Ah," he sang and stepped closer. "My intentions were to woo you into agreeing t'go on a date with dis rather hopeless romantic fool."

"And who would that be?" she teased, smiling widely.

"Oh, a guy I know. 'Bout 6'1", built like he work out inna gym, good-lookin', maybe need a shave an' a hair-brushin'."

"Your hair looks fine," she laughed as she regarded the long lengths of his chestnut hair brushing at the curve of his jaw. " I like it."

"Well, I feel betta!" he mocked wiping sweat from his brow. "Fo' moment dere I was afraid you'd tell me you preferred blond, curly hair or somethin'."

She laughed and invited him into her room. The rose was gently placed down on her desk while she filled an electric kettle with water.

"This morning you seemed interested in more than just dinner and a movie."

"Still am, but I figure you wanna take things a lil slow. I can be a gennlman."

"Fine, I'll go out with you; on one condition."

"Allons," he nodded in compliance.

"I'd like to know a little more about you," she glanced sideways at him as she poured two mugs of tea.

"Whaddya wanna know?"

"Why did you contact the X-Men? That normally doesn't happen. Charles usually finds those who need their help and, by proxy, are often recruited into the Team."

Remy sat down next to her on the small sofa and threw an arm around her shoulders.

"I saw a report on th'news one night. Dey were helpin' some folks escape an illegal prison, I heard, an' a few of'em were in Congress on behalf of th'victims. Did some searchin', saw what they stood for, an' it got me thinkin'. For a long time I been lookin' for a way to redeem myself. Did a lot of bad shit 'n my youth, an' it's due time I make up fo' dat."

"And they just openly let you in?"

"No, not a'first. Dey watched me for awhile, 'bout a month. Den, las'week, dey say I was good. And, now I'm here. What else you wanna know?"

"I want to know if you're pursuing anyone else here. I happen to hold honesty in high regard and don't appreciate it much if I'm being played a fool. Not that I'm the jealous type, but," she shrugged.

"Alright, chere, no games. I know I flirt; I made a habit of it, an' it's hard to break. You can ask ev'ry woman here if I ever asked for their attention like I have you. You want, go on an' do it. I wait. But if you wanna save some time, I be honest as an angel witchu. I like you an' I wanna spend time with you, get t'know ya more. You don' like me, say so an' I leave ya alone."

Ada regarded him for a brief moment, staring deep into his bright ruby eyes in search of any deception. When she decided that his words were believable, she nodded.

"Alright, Remy, we'll go on that date," she agreed.

Remy's foxy grin beamed into a wide, happy smile. He bent forward and gave her cheek a quick kiss before standing back up.

"I pick you up Friday night. Think I know where you live," he teased and leaned casually against her door jamb.

"Okay."

"You, uh, you still gonna tell on me? If it make y'feel better, I suffered fo' dat rose. Damn peekons scratch th'hell outta my hand," he displayed his injured knuckles.

"I don't think Kurt will mind. He's a sucker for romance anyway."

He chuckled and began to pull her door shut, flashing a sly wink before slipping away.

"Pleasant dreams, ma belle."

Laughing quietly to herself, Adaliah stood up and grabbed the rose, breathing in its scent once more. Remy was a bit different from the men she had known from her past, but perhaps that's what made him so attractive. There was that air of danger and excitement she secretly craved.

Her previous relationship was with a man named Ian, also called Riff due to his musical talent. Riff was sensitive, caring, gentle, and romantic. He also had a tendency to be that way with other women. After one year of engagement, she had enough and broke it off. A burden had been lifted and Riff never asked for her to take him back. But he had hurt a good chunk of her trust.

Two years of avoiding any kind of romantic (and even casual) affairs, she decided she was ready to tackle that part of life once more. Even if it was just for a little bit of fun, she deserved to feel that someone desired her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Takin' Dat Chance

Her eyes fluttered closed and she moaned in pleasure.

"Oh, God! So good!" she breathed and sighed heavily.

The three other women in the break room looked over at Ada and giggled while they watched her lick the spoon in her grasp clean.

"Are you having sex with that pint of ice cream?" Emma teased.

"This is Sea Salt Caramel Truffle and it's better than sex!" she exclaimed and scooped another heaping spoonful out of the round carton.

"This coming from the woman who hasn't got any for the past two-ish years," the platinum blonde snickered.

"Actually," Jean shrugged, "I believe her. It can be such a chore at times. Are you willing to share, Miss Chocolate Orgasm?"

Ada pulled the carton close to her chest and shot Jean a feigned scowl.

"I don't participate in ménage a trois."

"Greedy!"

"And jealous and picky and all those terrible things that girlfriends and wives are never supposed to be," Ada joked but handed Jean a spoon and offered her the ice cream.

"So, who all is helping decorate for the Spring Formal next Saturday?" Jean asked.

"I can help," Ororo volunteered. "And I heard that Bobby was going to craft the ice sculpture centerpiece."

"Wait," Ada waved her spoon around. "What's the theme this year?"

"Masquerade," Emma, Jean, and Ororo all answered in unison.

"And the students want the masks to have something to do with their abilities," Jean added.

"Okay, I remember now. My brain lately, I swear," she shoved another large spoonful into her mouth.

"Something got you preoccupied?" Emma winked at her.

"Nope. There is nothing at all that could possibly be making my brain not function properly."

"You're a terrible liar."

"Why am I friends with telepaths again?"

"I am no telepath, Adaliah, and even I can tell when you're not telling the truth," Ororo smiled. "You fail to make eye-contact and you also fidget."

Ada looked at all three of her friends and groaned in defeat, sliding the ice cream carton away from her.

"Okay, fine. Since none of you are going to leave me alone, I'll talk. I, uh, I agreed to go on one date with Remy."

Their responses were a variety of squeals, clapped hands, and shouts of joy.

"Ada, darling! That's wonderful! You deserve to go have fun. And I'll bet he'll give it to you, too!"

"Well, maybe. I'm just, I haven't went on a date for so long that I'm nervous."

"We would be more than happy to help you prepare," Ororo smiled widely with encouragement.

"I just may need it," Ada rubbed her hands over her cheeks. "Oh, God! What am I getting myself into?"

"Possible trouble," Jean laughed.

"Ain't that the truth."

"We should go find you a dress after classes end," Emma encouraged.

"We should find someone who can figure out if I'm crazy for agreeing to do this. Oh, and go ahead and sign me up for the decorating committee, because apparently if I'm up for dating Gambit then I'm also game for throwing miles of streamers and gold lame fringed decorations around the ballroom. Both are acts that only insane people do!"

"You're not crazy. Well, maybe a little bit," Jean considered. "But, he's handsome and charming and has that bad boy vibe going on which is appealing."

"He's sexy. It's a big problem for me," Ada grumbled as she read the ingredients on the ice cream carton.

"It could also be very good for you," Emma smirked.

O . . . O . . . O

Logan pulled his Harley Davidson into the garage, parking it next to the half-assembled Triumph, and stretched his numbed arms and legs after dismounting. He threw his knapsack onto his wide shoulders and started for the manor entrance. A strange new scent stopped him in his tracks, causing his nostrils to flare as he breathed the smell in deeply.

Marlboro lights, Creed, and ozone…

He followed the trail into the house, down to the lower levels, and into the Danger Room. The holograms had not been activated but there was someone inside according to the room status terminal. He opened the door and stepped in to see the owner of the new smell exercising with a long metallic bo staff. Nonchalantly, he walked closer to the stranger. His advance was immediately halted when the staff was jutted forward in a hard line, narrowly missing the tip of his nose.

His dark grey eyes met the stranger's red glare. Logan studied him in silence for several seconds. Red-Eyes never moved a single muscle, standing in a steady, low posture as if to await an attack.

"Hey, Bub, you better put that stick away before I put it away for you in a place you won't like too well," Logan warned.

"You hafta take it away first, homme. Good luck wi'dat," a sly grin oozed up Red-Eye's mouth.

"Lemme guess; you're the new recruit."

"Dat be me. And you are?"

"About to be really pissed off if you don't get that fucking stick out of my face."

A button was pressed and the staff retracted into a compact, one foot-short rod. Logan relaxed his arms but continued to watch the stranger.

"So, you're Gambit, huh?"

"Last I check."

"I heard about you."

"Did you now? And jus' what was it you heard?" Gambit threw a towel across his shoulders and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Professional thief who decided to go down another path."

"Ex-thief; don do dat no more."

"Right, because people who are good at their jobs just quit all of a sudden all the time."

"Not askin' you t'believe me, homme. An' I have th'feeling you not gonna like me no matter what I say or do, non? So hows about we just do our own thing, stay outta each other's hair."

Logan nodded and watched Gambit pick up his water bottle and head for the exit. He bumped his shoulder against the arm of the taller man and shot him a cold scowl.

"Just so you know, Gambit, I don't trust you."

"I'm used t'folks not trustin' me," Gambit grinned and walked away, leaving Logan alone to growl in solitude.

O . . . O . . . O

"Nope, nope, nope, ah!" Emma chirped and walked out of Ada's closet holding up a black dress. "This one?"

"I wore that to my grandmother's funeral," Ada explained while shaking her head.

Sighing with frustration, Emma went back into the closet and continued to reject a variety of other outfits.

"You do not have a single thing in here that says 'I have a hot date.'"

"Are you forgetting that I'm a school teacher? There are ladders that I have to climb. Slinky cocktail dresses are never appropriate," she examined a pair of high heels she wore once to a dinner party. They had been thrown into the back of the closet until Emma dug them out with a victorious cheer.

"Well, this certainly won't do. We'll have to go shopping."

Ada's eyes grew wide with fright.

"You know, maybe the black dress will be fine!"

"No, mentioning the fact you wore this to a funeral ruined my thoughts on it."

"I don't even know what he has planned. Maybe we're just going to go for coffee or something casual."

"Perhaps. But even if it's something as low-key as tea and crumpets you need to look stellar! Now, where did I see that cute top with the lacy collar?"

A knock on her door interrupted her ignoring Emma's closet spelunking. She opened it to see the copy of Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time flashing in her face.

"I'd return it to de library, but seein' dat it's closed, thought I'd just deliver it to th'librarian personally," the thickly accented velvet voice carried over the book.

Ada smiled shyly and took it from Remy's grasp.

"Did you like it?" she asked, expecting to hear something along the lines of "I never finished it".

"Meh, intrestin' an' all, mais not sho I completely agree wit' him. De man a genius, I give him dat, but de way he talk about energy, not all of it true. I would know, I can channel th'stuff."

"Ah," she nodded and politely showed him in.

"Ada, darling if you're going to wear these leather jeans, I do hope you have a thong to wear under- oh! Mr. Lebeau! Good afternoon," Emma greeted with a sheepish grin.

"Ms. Frost," he smiled.

"Emma was just, er, helping me sort through my closet."

"Actually, to be honest, Ada asked for my help in finding an appropriate outfit to wear on your date tomorrow evening," Emma explained bluntly. "Which, we are so very glad you are here! You can tell us what you have in mind so we know how to plan for the occasion."

Ada clenched her teeth as she shot Emma a weak smile.

"Thanks for that."

"You're welcome. So, what sort of romantic events do you have in store for your lady? An extravagant dinner? A long walk on the beach? An evening picnic in the park?"

"Actually, I'm none too familiar wit' dis area," Remy admitted with a tinge of chagrin. "I was kinda hopin' dat we could just find a little place, nothin' too fancy, an' talk. Get t'know each other."

Emma's smile may have dropped but Ada breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed the sequined ball gown out of her grip.

"Oh, thank God! I'm so glad to hear you say that. We could go into town and I'll show you a couple nice cafes that are good."

"Sound good t'me, chere. Well, I leave you an' your comp'ny at it den. And, eh, just so y'know, kinda gotta thing fo' leather," he winked before walking out of the room.

Ada blushed brightly and held the returned book tight against her beating heart.

"That's settles it," Emma flung the black leather jeans around her friend's shoulder. "You are going to wear these and get yourself laid, and if you don't then I have failed as your friend!"

"You'll hear no complaints from me."

"Good. My God, he just projects pure sex, doesn't he?" She waved a hand at her face as she breathed heavily.

"Uh-huh," Ada agreed.

O . . . O . . . O

In the wee hours of the evening, a police officer was walking out of the station, his shift done for the day. He waved to a fellow cop, tired but relieved smile on his face, and got in his car. He drove out of the city to an abandoned church that had been ruined by Hurricane Katrina. From the outside, it looked abandoned; gang-sign graffiti covered the white siding and faded signs of "condemned" had been nailed to the crooked door. The smell of decay and mold still hung in the humid night air.

He adjusted his belt as he stepped out of the car and walked around to the graveyard just beyond the churchyard to a large marble mausoleum flanked by two guarding angel statues. Checking his watch, he lifted a fist and rapped three times on the door.

"Password," a gruff voice called from behind the thick brass-covered door.

"I don't need a password, Toad, just let me in," the officer grumbled in annoyance.

"Password!" the voice demanded.

"Fine, you slimy little bastard; revolution."

With a low, stubborn groan the door slowly opened to allow the officer entry. Once inside, in the safety of the darkness, his short, rotund body began to shift and morph. The wave of the crocodile-like scales removed the illusion of clothes, muscle, fat, and facial hair into the smooth, dark blue flesh of the female mutant. Her bright yellow eyes glared down at the squat figure to her right.

"Revolution," she snorted then pushed him away. "So stupid!"

Toad fumbled to gain his balance then followed her down the torch-lit hallway.

"You told me that I was in charge of the door!" he argued.

"Then why aren't you doing that right now, you idiot?" she hissed at him.

Toad sneered at her before heading back to his post.

Mystique sauntered down the damp hallway of the hidden base, walking into the largest and most comfortable room within the secret catacombs. Large candelabras lined the stone walls, illuminating the flecks of quartz and mica within the rock to give the walls a sparkling effect. Seated at an antique mahogany and cherry desk was an older man dressed in a rich wool suit dyed a dark burgundy. He was reading a copy of Howard Carter's accounts of discovering the tomb of Tutankhamen and didn't look up when she stopped before him.

"Did you locate it?" he asked in a pronounced, strong baritone.

"It's in the archives. There are a few security points in the way but nothing we can't handle. A small squad of campus police patrols the area during the night. The most deadly thing they carry are taser guns. It's almost like they want us to break in and take it," she smirked.

Max Eisenhardt, known as Magneto, calmly closed his book, and finally looked up at her, a satisfied calm etched on his proud features.

"Humans!" he spat the word. "I often wonder if they enjoy knowing that they're keeping nature from continuing its course. Their fear of losing superiority of being the top predator on this puny little planet is almost laughable. Very soon, however, they're about to see that they're losing this fight, and every homo sapien living, every man, woman, and child, will beg to be spared. For once, my dear, we will finally have the peace we so desperately wish for."

Mystique smiled a cocky turn of her lips while she listened.

"When do we strike?"

"Take your best out tomorrow evening. And be quick about it. The sooner I have that book in my hands the sooner we can begin our revolution."

That word again! She tried not to snarl but it was difficult. She blamed Toad for ruining it for her.

Nodding in acceptance, Mystique turned on her toes and quietly exited the room. She had quite a bit of planning to do, but she also needed sleep. This damn town was beginning to exhaust her. Too much deep-fried anything covered in cayenne pepper. She was also still angry at herself for letting the targeted mutant get away. So close! He was in the palm of her hands and yet he left her. It was hours later, after she found herself lying in his bed, that she realized he had charmed her and ran from her side.

She settled down in her own room, resting her tired body in the expensive arm chair, and tried to find sleep.

"Tomorrow," she whispered to herself and smiled. "Tomorrow."

O . . . O . . . O

It was odd for him to feel nervous. Years of training to be a professional thief, to ignore all the anxieties and just "be cool", was suddenly thrown out the window at the thought of one evening alone with Adaliah. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was about her, specifically, that made him go all school-boy smitten. He had been with plenty of women; some he thought he loved, some were addictive as fuck they were so good, some had the personality of a wet mop. But none of them had ever made his heart throb out of time the way that short, cute, ample-bottomed book nerd did. He tried focusing on one trait but found himself inundated with other "favorite" things.

She had a way of talking to him as though she was both joking and yet so very serious. And the way she looked at him, studiously like he was a rare specimen, but also with the air of desire by the way her gaze would flicker up and down his body. It filled him with a never-ending mental itch and he wanted it scratched in the worst way.

From that first day, it felt so long ago but it had only been four days, when he met her in the kitchen he was intrigued. She struck him as friendly yet cautious and he respected that. The more he saw her, had the chance to speak to her, the more he realized that his sexual attraction to her was quickly developing into more than just red-blooded lust. Of course, he would catch himself staring at her breasts and her backside, but more often, in the past couple of days, he found he was drawn to her bright aqua eyes or noticed the bright pink blush in her cheeks when he flirted, even watched the way her small, delicately nailed hands would move as she spoke.

He glanced back up at the mirror in his bathroom, wiping the rest of the shaving cream off his face, and focused on the bright red irises locked within the black sclera of his eyes. In the Thieves' Guild he was revered as some kind of prophesy child. El Diable Blanc they called him, thought that he would unite the Thieves Guild with the Assassins' Guild and bring about some kind of powerful force. Well, he did unite them through marriage, for about five minutes… it ended with a sore jaw, a dead brother-in-law, and an annulment. He was also forced to leave the Guild and search for a "cure" for his strange ability to "charge" energy in pretty much anything he touched. He never found a cure, but he did discover a little bit about who he was. Some of it he liked while a good chunk he despised.

Fifteen years of soul-searching , both solitary travels and even a few years with a group of mercenaries which he realized too late was more like a mass of murderous thugs, he found himself at this majestic, palatial estate amid others like him who had the goal to make this world a better place. It was an odd feeling, being stable, but perhaps it was worth it.

Another attack of butterflies in his stomach made him worry if this date would be a complete disaster. He wanted to impress her but he also wanted her to give him more than just a fleeting chance. It had been so long that he allowed himself to truly like someone else. He let lust take over, gaining himself a quick fix from casual sex, but there was no radiating feelings of longing and wishing to spend downtime with them.

With Adaliah, though…

He sighed and stepped away from the fogged mirror to put on his clothes. His sight flicked over the myriad of tattoos lining his left arm, mementos of his life both past and present. A suit of aces curled over his biceps followed by a crucifix, a fleur de lis, the Thieves' Guild symbol, and a variety of other images that defined who Gambit was to him. They were completely covered beneath the black poplin cotton of his button-down shirt. He wasn't used to revealing himself to others, but he was willing to take his chances with Ada. Besides, wasn't his persona all about taking risk?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: How to Take Back a Stolen Watch

_It's funny how rumors can spread,_ she thought as she finished putting on her make-up while Emma and Jean helped her fuss with her hair and clothes.

Earlier that day, during her last study hall group, she was confronted by Misty who immediately "smelled" her puppy-love-filled anxiety. The girl smiled widely with knowing and hummed a happy song.

"So, it's totally true, then," she said as she sat down next to Ada for help on her art history paper.

"What do you mean?" Ada asked, feigning ignorance.

"You're going out with that guy; you know, the really hot one from the other day. He smelled like cinnamon and caramel."

"I didn't notice what cologne he was wearing."

"Um, no, not his cologne; his emotions. Like, he was totally crushing on you in a big way. Seriously! And now you smell like roses and chocolate. And bitter orange, because you're nervous."

"Any word on that cold you detected earlier this week?" Ada attempted to deviate the conversation.

"I guess precautions were taken. It died down a bit, so only a few people are going to catch it. So, like, where are you going? Is it someplace nice? Have you kissed him yet?"

"Miss Hillard, you have a paper due Monday for your art class; I suggest we use the time we have wisely."

Misty nodded but continued to smile.

"Right. Because you'll be busy tonight."

She was sure that it wasn't all Misty's fault. In fact, she knew that since the majority of the faculty had been informed about her upcoming date with Remy, or Gambit as most tended to call him, no ear was immune to the rumor mill. It was especially frustrating when she knew there were a slew of conversations going on with the telepaths who didn't even bother with verbal communication. While Jean normally kept information to herself, Emma was the worst about keeping her mouth, and her brain, quiet. She loved her friends, no doubt about that, but she also didn't enjoy being the subject of gossip which Emma ate up just as much as she spewed.

Until the day was over, Ada endured the whispers and the giggles within the confines of the library, knowing that they were about her. And she knew they were about her, because on one occasion she heard one student say to another "Ms. Gregg's going out with that dude from New Orleans."

There was nothing else she could do except grit her teeth behind her lips and keep on acting like nothing was happening until she could bolt out the library door and run to the safety of her personal quarters.

"You look wonderful, my dear!" Emma exclaimed as she helped her throw on the light silk jacket.

Ada absently toyed with the silver watch at her wrist.

"You know, I can't even remember what it's like to be on a date with someone," she fidgeted nervously with her jacket sleeves. "I think awkwardness is involved."

"You'll be fine," Jean assured her. "Now, don't forget to be back before midnight."

"Or what? My car turns into a pumpkin and Prince Charming becomes a troll?"

"Possibly? Anyway, I'm just kidding. Relax," Jean teased with a wide smile. "Have fun, and don't do anything Emma wouldn't do."

"That could be a number of questionable things," Emma pointed out while pushing her friend out the door.

Ada exhaled a hard breath, slung her handbag over her shoulder, and walked toward the garage to meet Remy. On the way down, she noticed several students crowding around to get a peek of her before she left. Amid the gathering she spotted Misty wearing her typical "knowing" smile before pointing to her nose. She shook her head, eyes narrowed in warning.

"Art history paper. Due Monday," she reminded and watched the girl shrink back into her room.

A smile curled up her lips as she thought about how, for once, she was the subject of the school's curiosity. Her amusement was short-lived, however, when she was stopped in her tracks by a familiar, gruff voice.

"Hey, Ada!"

Turning on her ballet flats, she faced Logan who was leaning casually along the wall.

"I heard you got back yesterday. How was your trip?"

Logan shrugged and stepped closer to her, a weak grin on his lips.

"Typical. I drove down some roads, got caught in a few storms, ate shitty diner food, but it was something I needed to do. I heard you're seeing that Cajun. A bit quick for you to just leap into a relationship after knowing someone for only a couple of days."

Ada's brow dropped low.

"It's not a relationship, and, in all honesty, it's really none of your business," she retorted.

"I know, but," Logan let a rough growl rumble from his throat as he regarded her. "I don't trust him. He smells- off to me."

"Logan, I appreciate the warning, but I'm pretty sure I can take care of myself," she started away from him.

"Adaliah," he called after her, causing her to stop once more. "I- nevermind. Be careful."

She nodded and briskly walked away, trying to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of her brain. Logan's intuitions were usually correct, but she wondered if he was wrong this time. She respected him as a peer yet kept her distance. Logan was known to have the slightest bit of a bad temper, though it was usually directed away from his friends and acquaintances. Why, then, did he have such animosity against Remy?

Shrugging off her worries, she continued to where she told Remy to meet her. Her date was already waiting for her at the garage entrance. After the typical trading of compliments between the two of them, he followed her to her car.

"Dis not right, chere," he grinned sheepishly. "I asked you out an' you drivin'?"

"Well, you said you weren't familiar with the area; it's the least I could do."

"Already, you too good t'me," he chuckled and gazed adoringly at her.

Ada glanced over for a second before pulling the car out of the garage and saw the sly, flirtatious way he stared at her, his right eye hidden beneath a thick thatch of chestnut hair. She felt her cheeks warm with a blush.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a bit of a player?"

"Oh, once or twice, maybe."

Salem Center was easily described as quaint but terribly sophisticated. Nearly every vehicle on the streets was the product of luxury companies. The sidewalks were impeccably clean and every yard of every house was flanked by high stone walls, meticulously trimmed hedge bushes, or black wrought-iron fences. But despite its hoity-toity appearance, the citizens of the wealthy hamlet were very friendly. Each person Ada passed by gave a friendly wave.

"I thought rich folk were stuck up snobs," Remy murmured as he watched an attractive middle-aged woman greet Ada while she parked the car next to a coffee shop. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses to hide the red glow of his irises, knowing that someone would either rudely stare or show open fear.

"You would think, but actually everyone here is very nice. There are a few folks who tend to be a bit elitist, but those aren't the kind of people anyone wants to be around."

"I feel like I shoulda wore a tux justa get a café. Dey must serve a macchiato in gold goblets!"

Ada laughed and slipped her hand through his as they approached the barista.

"You look fine, sweetheart," she assured him.

After they got their coffees to go, Ada took him on a short tour down the main stretch of town. She showed him a few interesting shops, informed him on good restaurants, and even subtly pointed out citizens who were mutants.

"That old man," she nodded to a well-dressed older gentleman sitting on a nearby bench, "that's Mr. Samson. He can create diamonds in his hands. He also owns the jewelers on the corner. And that lady walking the Maltese, her name is Julie and she can communicate with animals. She's a veterinarian."

"So, dere a lot of us livin' here?"

"A few hundred. Doctors, lawyers, chefs, teachers; I think this town is probably the most pro-mutant place in the whole country."

"Den why aren't you a lifeguard instead of a librarian?" he teased.

"Because I love books, and I love the school. I also have a second talent, but it's much weaker than the water manipulation. I can translate just about any written human language. It takes a little while, kind of like priming my brain, but after a few minutes I learn it and can speak it."

"Now dat's sumthin'! Museums must be beggin' you t'work for dem."

"You'd be surprised," she grumbled in irritation. "God forbid a mutant use her talents to benefit human-kind when some poncy scholar can spend years and years of donated money trying to transcribe an old Sumerian text. I attempted to get a job at the Smithsonian years ago, while I was still in college, and when they found out I was, well, what I am, I got a very nice letter from the head curator saying that while they appreciated my interest, they already had many well-acclaimed master scholars they used for 'consistency'. When Charles found out I was denied, he promised me a place at the school, and I gladly took it."

"Sorry t'hear dat, chere. A talent like dat is priceless," he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"I'm happy where I am. I get to help kids, I live in a beautiful place, have many good friends; it's a good life."

"Sound like it. A more honest life den dat of a thief."

"How did you end up doing that, if you don't mind me asking?" she looked up at him.

"Dey raised me. See, my real dad, he abandon me when I was a baby. Don' know what happened to my mama. I'm guessin' she died or sumthin'. But the Guild took me in, raised me, taught me th'art of theft. Some years later I was adopted by the patron. I went from livin' on th'streets of N'Awlins to being pampered like a spoiled brat."

Ada shook her head in disbelief, feeling utter pity for the man next to her.

"Why did you leave?"

"Wasn't really my choice. I sort of accident'ly killed my brother-in-law. He attacked me at my weddin'. I was put in an arranged marriage to th'daughter of the Assassin's Guild an' he didn' like dat too well an' he challenged me. When I did what I did, which I tried t'tell 'em all it was an accident, dey said I couldn't be protected. So, I was exiled. Traveled th'world, did some things, saw some things, got to th'point I was tired of wandrin' 'round. Fifteen years is a long time t'be alone."

"My God, Remy. I had no idea," she murmured.

"Not many do. An' when you're young an' out on y'own, ya gotta grow up fast."

"How old were you when you had to leave?"

"Eighteen."

"Wow. You've had one hell of a rough life."

"But a'least it mine, non? I learned a lot an' prob'bly know more 'bout life den most people. Bein' smart is one thing, an' it can get ya far. But it don' help ya if you don' have wisdom. An' I got a lot of dat."

"I'm sure you do," she smiled kindly.

"So," he pulled her closer, "you ready to start runnin' down th'street screamin' fo' yer life?"

"Why would I do that?"

"'Cause I just took de watch off yer wrist an' you didn' even notice," he grinned cheekily.

Ada looked down at her left arm and saw that her watch had, indeed, been removed.

"Cute, LeBeau, really cute. You planning on giving it back?"

"Hmm, maybe," he teased and dangled the silver object in front of her gaze. "Whutchu gonna give me fo' it?"

She stopped him, stood up on her tiptoes, and removed the sunglasses from his eyes before taking his face into her hands. A soft, gentle kiss was placed on his parted lips.

"May I have my watch back now?" she whispered, smiling at the stunned expression in his eyes.

"I get you a thousand watches for dat," he breathed and slipped the metal band back over her wrist.

Her fingers threaded between his as she led him down the street toward a restaurant. The nervousness began to dwindle away, allowing her to feel comfortable and enjoy the time she got to spend with him.

O . . . O . . . O

"C'mon, chere, show me!" he goaded and held the bottle of cognac out, sliding a shot glass to her.

They returned to the mansion where they promptly got inebriated off red wine and barely concealed lust. Remy begged for Ada to show him some of her water manipulating talents, which at first she wasn't too sure of revealing. But after finishing a bottle of Old Vine Zinfandel, in addition to some "smack-talk" courtesy of the flirty Cajun, she gave in and grabbed her Hennessey out of the humidor in hopes that a couple of drinks of the rich liquor would gain her more bravery.

"Fucking insulting!" she hiccupped and grabbed the glass before it slid off the bar. "Pouring high quality cognac into a cheap ass shot glass!"

"You mouthy when you drunk," he teased. "Let's go baby, Gambit wanna see what you can do."

"You gotta take the stopper out of it first or there will be cognac everywhere," she warned with a wry grin. "Pressure builds up and the sides could explode if you don't take it out."

"You dirty girl!" he laughed and pulled her back against him. "If dat true, den I'm willin' t'find out." His lips grazed over her ear.

"Hey now, bad boy," she quickly stepped out of his grasp and smiled. "I thought you wanted to see a lame party trick."

"Alright, I be good. For now."

Remy pulled the stopper out of the bottle then hunkered down, chin on the bar, and waited for her to pour a shot of the drink into the awaiting glass.

Ada scooted her stool closer and lifted a hand over the bottle's opening, slightly glassy eyes focused intently on the amber liquid. She felt her blood tingle and fizzle as though harmless sparks of static were streaming through her veins, like freshly laundered wool socks taken from a dryer were being pulled apart. The tingling changed into hard rush of addictive power, awakening her muscles, making her take deeper, more focused breaths. Her eyes dilated and her skin prickled with goosebumps. She glanced back up at Remy who continued to stare at her in fascination.

Suddenly, the still liquid shot out of the bottle and hovered in a long, quivering rope. Remy sat up, jaw slacked, and regarded the line of cognac held in perfect stasis by her control. Not a single drop fell onto the bar. Ada grabbed the shot glass, stood from her seat, and walked across the kitchen, her hand still held in a flat vertical position to stay the liquid. With a wave, the cognac pulled into a neat ball and floated slowly toward her. She balanced the perfect sphere on the tip of her index finger, even held it in the palm of her hand, much to Remy's amusement, before throwing it up and forcing it to fling around her in a long, encompassing ribbon around her body.

Her smile relaxed her features and her muscles loosened as she allowed a minute bit of her talent shine. He wondered just why she hid such a talent. True, what she was doing was basically a fancy bar trick that would make most professional bartenders green with envy, but he knew there was more. He could feel the energy of her power pulsing, surging around her.

The shot glass was tossed into the air and every inch of the liquid ribbon was commanded into the vessel. Carefully, she grabbed the flying glass then walked back to the bar, placing it before him.

"Bien, chere! Very nice!" he clapped and watched her bow mockingly.

"Thank you. Just a stupid little thing, but," she shrugged and sat next to him.

"No, it's, it was beautiful," he breathed, unable to find the words to describe what he wanted to say.

He stared into her eyes, watching the dim light cast glittering facets within the jewel-tone colors of her irises, and felt his body lean closer to her.

"You gonna drink that cognac?" she teased quietly.

Glancing at the glass absently, he grabbed it, threw the liquid down his throat, then turned back to her as he slid the empty vessel down the bar. He stood from his seat and wrapped an arm around her waist, picking her up from her stool. He watchedher hands slid up his forearms to grip at his flexed biceps.

"How we gonna end dis night, baby?" he whispered, tracing the soft slope of her jaw down to her chin.

"I'm not sure yet. I haven't thought past this point."

"Maybe we start wit just a lil kiss," he leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers.

The rich, smoky aroma of the cognac wafted up to her nose as she breathed him in, immediately tasted the fire of the alcohol resonating in his mouth. In an almost elegant tango, he slowly flicked the tip of his tongue against hers before drawing away. She gasped at the seductive tease, then softly moaned as he repeated the motion once more before pulling away. His forehead rested against momentarily before he drew back to look into her eyes once more.

"Will dat work for your 'good night'?"

A coy grin slipped up her mouth as she pulled him tighter to her.

"No, it won't," she murmured and slipped her hands down into the back pockets of his jeans.

He met her lips once again with a low groan, inhaling her perfume deeply as the embrace grew with passion. His fingers combed through her hair before cupping the back of her head. He could feel the muscles tense in her abdomen, and he hated the thin barriers of fabric between them. There was nothing more he wanted in that moment than to remove all of their clothing and take her on that bar.

The feel of having someone hold her, to express need for her, made her want more. Her hands traveled up his chest; her leg curled around his thigh as he bent her back over the bar top. Heavy breaths met with each kiss developing into desperate panting. She could feel his arousal pressing through his jeans against her core; a sharp jolt of sensitivity shot up her spine and back down into her groin.

He pulled back and gazed down at the floor before risking a glance at her features. Her cheeks were glowing with a vibrant, healthy pink; her lips were swollen from the deep embraces. He could feel her heartbeat racing behind her ribcage.

"I think we call it a night," he whispered and kissed her cheek.

"Why?" she asked.

He helped her stand back up then held her close.

"I want you in th'worst way, an' I would do just about anythin' t'get you in my bed right now. But we both drunk, not thinkin' straight," he kissed her ear and allowed his lips to drift up her temple.

"I'm not that drunk," she protested. "And this whole time you've been talking a big game, now you back off?"

"Ada, ma belle, I'm gonna walk you t'your room, give ya another good, long kiss goodnight, den watch you close dat door behind you. You gonna wake up in de mornin', grab ya some aspirin, and not have a single regret. Comprendre?"

A sad pout wrinkled her forehead, but she nodded and hung onto him as they ascended the stairs for the East Wing. At the door to her room, she hid her flushed face behind the long curtain of her hair, feeling a wave of chagrin welling inside.

"I guess this is the part where I tell you that I had a good time, blah, blah, blah…" she muttered.

"You not upset, are ya?" he reached for her hands, thumbs caressing over her knuckles.

Her smile returned and she glanced back up at him.

"No, Remy, I'm not. Maybe you're right, though. Maybe we need to be clear-headed if we, uh, y'know."

"We got time, chere; dat is, if you still like me well enough. You willin' t'take a chance on me again?"

She responded by kissing him softly then entered her room, giving him one last glance.

"I'll see you in the morning for that aspirin," she promised.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Bloody Inferno

Her head hurt and her tongue felt like a shag carpet that hadn't been vacuumed in years. She groaned when she heard her door being knocked upon. Gingerly, she rested the back of her hand against her forehead and dared to crack one crusty eye open. The morning sunlight pierced into her brain the same way a screwdriver stabs into a fresh block of flawless ice. It was surprisingly painful.

"Who is it?" she muttered through her pillow.

"It's me, chere. I got sumthin' for ya," Remy answered.

Her nauseous stomach jumped with happy, if not slightly sick, butterflies and the smile that crept up her aching face caused her head to throb more.

_I almost slept with him_, she reminded herself. _I could be feeling this way in his room instead of mine. Would that have been better?_

"Um, c-come in," she replied, lifting her head a few inches higher.

The sunlight was momentarily concealed as the majority of her hair fell into her face. She heard the door open and the sound of soft footsteps approaching. The thick cascade of golden brown hair was moved away from her watering eyes to see Remy, dressed in a thin tee shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, standing next to her bed, a silver breakfast tray in his hands. She breathed in the robust, smoky scent of coffee and relaxed.

"Mornin'," he greeted.

"Hey," her strained voice croaked.

Remy sat the tray down on her bedside stand and stepped back.

"I thought you'd like some coffee. Didn't know how y'took it, so I brought ya some milk t'add if you want."

"You are a dear," she sat up and patted the bed to invite him down.

He snuggled under the blankets before handing her the mug of coffee.

"You look good hung-over!" he teased.

"Yeah, so do you," she shot back and ran a hand through his tousled locks before taking a sip from the cup. "So, how do we get past the whole awkward bit where we try to find something to say and fail miserably?"

"Well, first I think I give you dis," he placed two white tablets of aspirin in her hand, "den after dat I ask you out on 'nother date in hopes dat we don't get drunk and screw up again."

"Do you think we screwed up?" she swallowed the tablets.

"Maybe jus' a'lil. But, we had fun, non? 'Sides, I been doin' some thinkin' dis mornin' when my head wasn't thumpin'," he dropped his head down to the pillow and began to trace a finger up her arm.

"About what?"

"'Bout us, where we wanna take dis ride we on."

"Kinda early in the game to be making that decision, isn't it?"

"Mm, I dunno. Maybe, but you gonna feel one of two ways 'bout me; you either gonna love me or hate my ass. I'd prefer you love me but I can handle th'other," he smiled slyly.

"You don't ask for much, do you?" she snickered and quickly regretted doing so when her head ached again.

"Yeah, I get it, arrogant lil prick, don' know what he askin' fo'. So, whachu say, chere? Do me th'honor of allowin' me t'be your lover?"

Ada placed her coffee down and attempted to sort her thoughts. The idea of jumping into a relationship after knowing Remy for less than a week should've been a red flag, and in most cases she would have heeded the warning. Loneliness, however, was a powerful persuader. The feel of his touch, even something as innocent as the light caress up her arm, was enough to make her long for more.

"What if I say 'no'?" she tested.

"Den I walk away. You gave me one shot with dat date, an' I'm glad you gave me a chance. Here's sumthin' ya gotta know 'bout me; when I see sumthin' dat I want, I go for it wit' ev'rythin' I have. But if it proves dat I can't have it, I waste no more energy on it. Simple as dat," he shrugged. "Mais, dere will always be dat pang of regret."

She gazed deep into the vibrant crimson of his eyes, looked past the dark circles from the hangover, and brushed a stray hair away from his cheek. His eyelids fluttered rapidly over the pitch black and ruby orbs as he leaned into her touch, lips parted in a soft sigh. Her thumb brushed over the faint stubble of his jaw, barely a day's growth.

"Promise me one thing," she began, fingertips barely touching his lips.

"Allons, ma belle."

"You don't try stealing my watch again," a smile grew on her face.

Remy chuckled and pulled her close, kissing her neck.

"Absolument, baby."

They spent the next several minutes curled against each other, waiting for the pain relievers and coffee to kick in. Remy attempted to break the hangover ice with bad jokes, causing her to laugh which made her head ache more but she didn't tell him to stop. Her delicate fingernails traced the thick black lines of the tattoos lining up his left arm, silently intriguing her. She was particularly interested in the image of a white horse carrying a cloaked figure on its back. "Le Mort" was written in gothic-styled letters.

"So, I says to my man Thibodaux, 'Homme, gimme dat shotgun an' you go back t'camp so you can make us a roux!'" he finished the punchline in a tale about two Cajuns meeting aliens in the bayou.

"That's terrible," she shook her head and smiled.

"Yeah, it is, an' it's an old, old joke so I can't claim ownership," he shrugged and stroked her hair. "You feelin' better?"

"A little. At least I don't feel like I have to throw up right now."

"Yeah, uh, don' do dat. While I find you incredibly sexy right now, wit your hair all mussed up, I gotta weak stomach an' dat would just ruin my attraction for you."

Ada snickered at his teasing, playfully nudging him with her elbow.

At that second her phone buzzed to announce a text message. She sat up to grab the device, grumbling at the motion.

"It's probably Emma wanting to know every little detail, although she probably already does. Being friends with telepaths can be a challenge at times."

"I hear dat. Be like havin' an unwanted guest in your house," his lips grazed across her forehead when she returned to his lap.

"Oh, oh shit," she groaned. "We gotta get up, sweetheart."

She struggled to her feet and attempted to pull her hair back into a ponytail.

"Sumthin' wrong, chere?"

"Charles is calling for all school faculty and Team members to the conference room for a meeting. I don't know what it's about but the message says it's very important."

"Really ain't no rest for th'wicked, is dere?" he smirked and rolled out of her bed. "Guess I betta git my ass in gear."

"Thanks for the morning-after therapy," she smiled weakly as she threw on a tee-shirt.

Remy gave her a quick kiss on the lips then gathered the empty mugs back onto the tray.

"Anytime, baby. I see ya down dere."

O . . . O . . . O

The conference room, which was located in the "Team Level" of the massive manor, essentially the basement, was already filled with the faculty of the school and the many members of the X-Men. Fifty-two people lined the walls of the long room, each one with their own unique talent. With some, such as Beast or Nightcrawler, it was openly apparent of their mutation. The rest were quite human-like with a few minor differences, such as Remy's red eyes or Ororo's snow white hair.

Charles Xavier sat at the head of the granite-topped table, his long fingers folded neatly under his chin. He regarded every person within the room with his characteristic combination of respect and authority. His sparkling grey eyes landed on Ada and the faintest smile pulled on his thin lips. He noticed the headache she was trying to conceal and also the fact that she and Remy were holding hands.

_It's good to see you here, my dear,_ he sent to her, and was glad to see her respond with a smile of her own.

"I'm sure you are all wondering why I called everyone here. It has been brought to my attention that Magneto has been seen with members of the Brotherhood in New Orleans. His intents were unknown to me until this morning when I turned on the news."

With that, Charles flipped on the large flatscreen television. A few people had to move in order for everyone to catch a glimpse of the story he recorded. An attractive woman in the typical uniform of an anchorperson began to report.

"Police are still baffled as to how an antique book was stolen from the history archives at the University of New Orleans."

The image flashed to the crime scene at the college, yellow tape blocking off the entrance to the building while scads of police officers slowly walked around like lost souls.

The reporter continued to speak. "Three campus police officers were found temporarily blinded and bound to each other by duct tape, and security cameras failed to capture any images of the thieves leaving the act open and unable to be solved at this point. The object in question is a journal reported to have been written by the scholar Josephus and was donated to UNO's School of Anthropology. Police are asking for any information in regards to the crime."

The television was turned off, and attention was once more back on Charles.

"I had my suspicions that the theft was performed by a mutant," he spoke. "I went into Cerebro moments after the story aired and searched for any mutant within that area and discovered a small team of the Brotherhood in hiding. Where, I cannot be certain. There was something blocking my telepathy, but I did see Mystique with the book. And I do not know what it is or why they took it. I need volunteers to go after them. If their intentions are malicious, they must be stopped."

A low wave of murmuring echoed throughout the room. Ada felt Remy let go of her hand and watched him step forward, his arm held up.

"I go. N'Awlins my hometown an' I know it like de back o' my hand."

"Gambit, I hope you understand that you are under no obligation to volunteer for a mission so soon after joining the Team," Charles replied lightly.

"Yes, I understand, Professor," he nodded, "I still volunteer."

"Scott and I will go," Jean spoke up.

"Count me in," Logan grumbled and glanced with suspicion over at Remy.

"As will I," Emma raised her hand.

"Very good," the Professor accepted.

Ada wrung her hands together and fought with her anxiety. Her place, or so she thought, was at the school and to stay out of the business of the Team. But there was a reason why Magneto stole that book. She could help and she knew she could. Perhaps if she could go along and not have to use the manipulation talent…

"Prepare to leave as soon as you can. And do be safe, my friends-"

"I volunteer, Professor," she interrupted.

Fifty-one pairs of eyes focused on the petite woman.

"Adaliah, you said before that you weren't comfortable with Team missions."

"I know that, but I may be of some use. In order to discover why Magneto wants that book you'll need someone who can translate the script. I can do that."

"Are you absolutely certain that you want to go along? It could get dangerous. Magneto never allows things to go easily for us. If he knows we are following his tracks he may strike back," the Professor warned.

Ada lifted her chin proudly, resolutely, and nodded.

"Let me go with them."

Charles looked over at Scott and Jean for their opinions on the request.

"She's right. We could use her talent to find out what Magneto's after," Jean defended her.

"Very well. Tsunami, welcome back," Charles smiled. "The rest of you, I'll ask for volunteers later if the mission goes past the weekend. That is all."

The room began to file out. Ada followed in a numbed daze, shocked that she had actually volunteered for a mission. It had been nearly three years since the Hudson Bay incident and she wondered if she had made a mistake by stepping up to the task of tracking down the Team's greatest adversary.

She was jolted back to reality when a warm hand slipped over her shoulder.

"Chere, you sure you wanna do dis?" Remy asked gently.

He was soon joined by Jean, Scott, Emma, and Logan.

"Yes, I do," she answered. "This is my chance to prove my worth."

"There's nothing for you to prove, Ada," Emma said. "Your value is never in question, dear."

"Please, I-I know I can do this. You have been telling me for years that I'm needed in the Team. And maybe this is my last chance to jump back in. So, why not now? We're just looking for clues, right?" she shrugged weakly.

Jean and Emma both gave her strong hugs as they thanked her and welcomed her back into the Team. Logan remained quiet but shook his head, obviously unhappy.

"Let's go talk," Remy took her hand and led her down the hallway.

"Tell me straight right now, baby; you ain't doin' dis for me, are you? 'Cause if you are, I gonna tell you right now, you makin' a big mistake."

Ada let a slight scowl mar her features.

"I am not trying to impress you, Gambit. So, get that idea out of your head this instant."

Remy backed away, his hands up in defense.

"Ey, not tryin' t'piss ya off. I jus' wanna make sure. I care too much for ya an' I wanna keep you safe. Oui? I don' wanna feel guilty if sumthin' happen to you."

"Look, I don't know how much you know about me and my past with the Team, but I'll tell you this; when I say that I can create tidal waves, I'm not kidding. That little parlor trick I did last night is nothing compared to what I can really do. Three years ago I almost killed nearly a hundred people in New York Bay."

Remy blinked in surprise, glanced down the hallway, then rushed her toward the nearest empty room.

"I'm listenin'," he encouraged after closing the door.

Ada began to pace the length of the room and attempted to find a way to tell her story.

"Three years ago there was an attack in New York. A couple of rogue Sentinels were accidentally launched by the military. At first, we thought it was a drill and that they were being reprogrammed to be used as drone-based weapons, but then something happened. Their original programming was cross-wired and they began to attack mutants. The military couldn't stop it because any time they tried to redirect their targeting system the Sentinels struck back.

"The X-Men were contacted and asked to intervene. It's one of the few times the government has ever sought out our aid. There were four of them in all; three had breached the city and one was in New York Bay. Jean, Storm, and I took that one on. Jean's telekinesis was giving out and Storm couldn't shock it with lightning. So, I did the only thing I could think to do. I summoned a massive tidal wave, one that could possibly crush the thing to pieces.

"The thing is, with my manipulation talent, it's difficult for me to keep control. The water calls to me, and the power is addictive. The more I pull the harder it is to wield it to my commands. If I succumbed to the power completely," she sighed and swallowed loudly. "I don't even want to think of what I could do.

"I began to panic and the wave grew bigger and bigger, barreling down the bay almost too fast for me to control. I could hear the people screaming in terror as the boat capsized. Storm flew in and tried to create a blockade from the wave but… It was at the very last second I felt Jean enter my mind and calm me down. With her help I was able to rein in the wave before it reached the shore. When I realized what I had done, how I had nearly killed all of those people, I removed myself from the Team. Charles and the others begged me not to leave, that they would help me get over my fears and anxiety. Emma tried therapy with me; Charles even offered to perform some kind of psychic link that would ease my brain's activity. I never could get over the fact that I almost created something much worse than what was already happening."

"Did anyone die?" he asked, finally finding his voice.

"No, not that I'm aware of. Many people drowned but we were able to resuscitate them before they died. No one blamed me for what happened, but no one knew just how close I came to letting that wave take its course. It would've been so easy to just let it go…" she let her eyes glaze over as the memory filled her mind.

Her blood tingled and her skin prickled. The sudden desire to feel that power again itched in her brain. The water was calling to her, begging to take over.

_Goddess…_

Her hands were covered by a warm, static-rich touch. She watched as Remy wove his fingers between hers, drawing her hands up to his lips.

"Ev'rybody make mistakes, chere. No one expectin' you t'be perfect. Things could've been lot worse dan dey were. Th'point is you did what you did an' th'only one blamin' you for dat is you. Now, next question is, did you get dat Sentinel?"

Slowly, Ada nodded.

"Alright, den. You a hero in my book. Saved some folks, took out a bad guy."

"It wouldn't have been that way if it wasn't for Jean and Ororo."

"Dis a Team, non? De whole idea bein' dat y'all help each other out. Would you help one of your teammates if dey in trouble?"

"Of course," she nodded.

"Den what th'problem? You need help, Gambit give ya all I got. An' if I need you, I'm hopin' you be dere for me."

Ada stifled the tears that tried to breach her eyes. She nodded again and sniffled until the saline dripped back down her throat. Remy pulled her into a tight embrace, gently kissing her head and cheek as she trembled in his arms.

"You stronger dan you think, chere. You just gotta believe dat."

O . . . O . . . O

The fluorescent lighting flickered ominously, projecting a cold glow onto the glass case. Lining the wall were the uniforms of the X-Men. Most were constructed of Kevlar and leather or a variety of other materials depending on the Team member and their particular needs. But the one she stared at with open trepidation was crafted of dark gray neoprene and latex. Gill-like designs curved around the shoulders, neck, abdomen, and thighs, giving it a reminiscent shark-like appearance. The tall, thigh-high boots had a faint heel, just enough for the specialized traction on the soles to give her more stability while "water-walking". It was created specifically for her, allowing her to utilize her talents with utmost proficiency.

She hadn't looked at it for three years.

"No one is forcing you to go along, dear," Emma's soft voice echoed in the room.

"I know."

"And you know that if you need support, such as mentally, I'll be right there with you, as will Jean."

Ada looked up at her friend and smiled weakly.

The White Queen had already donned her trademarked white suit, silken wing-like cape flowing around her tall, lithe body like a cloud. It was just another reminder that Ada had pushed herself into a very uncomfortable corner.

"I really don't want to pull any water-"

"But if it comes down to it, and it may, I have faith in you."

A curt nod was her reply, and she watched Emma unlock the glass case to retrieve the suit.

"I wonder if the damn thing still fits me. I probably gained a few pounds since the last time," she grumbled as she held it up to her neck.

Without any bit of shame, Emma pulled the bust of the tight garment around Ada's chest and shrugged. "You worry too much. Your body is perfect and, in my personal opinion, I think you should show it more often."

"You're too kind," Ada frowned and slapped Emma's hands away.

"We should get going. Scott's starting up the Blackbird. Did you pack everything you think you'll need?"

"I think so."

"Right, then. Suit up and meet me in the hangar room. And don't worry about anything. You'll be fine."

Ada was left alone in the cold room, weakly holding the wetsuit-like garment against her body, and wondered if she had made a mistake volunteering for the mission.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning: The following chapter contains explicit sexual situation. Read at your own discretion.**

Chapter 6: Chez LeBeau

There was a small streak of dirt smudged on the bright pink breastplate and it annoyed him. Licking his finger, he cleaned the dirt away, then polished the wet spot with the edge of his coat sleeve.

"You done primping, Gumbo?" Wolverine grumbled as he watched the Cajun meticulously check the breastplate for any more spots.

"It shine bright enough t'act like a mirror, so don' go lookin in it, oui? Don' need it breakin' on me," Gambit smirked, causing Wolverine to growl louder.

"Gentlemen, if we could be a little civil, please," Emma broke up the argument.

Gambit bowed in compliance while Wolverine simply stepped back and paced anxiously. The door opened to reveal the last teammate and his eyes widened as did his smile.

Her hair flowed behind her like a silken flag. The tight clothing revealed every dip, swell, and curve on her voluptuous figure. She flicked her turquoise eyes up to the jet and sighed a lingering sound while pulling the heavy duffel bag sling higher up her shoulder. Ada had disappeared beneath the stature and pride of this beautiful creature, this goddess named Tsunami. For a second, he was enchanted by her and forgot where he was.

Until Wolverine grumbled that it was time to board the jet.

Gambit took her bag and helped her up the ramp, giving him a cheap excuse to stare at her from behind.

"Coo! Chere, you got my heart racin' like a thoroughbred!" he sang.

"I think I lost all feeling in my feet," she mumbled and pulled at the tight neck of the suit.

"I help you get out of dat suit later," he whispered in her ear.

Ada returned when a light pink blush glowed in her cheeks.

"Good luck with that. We may need heavy machinery to get me out."

The Blackbird started up with a low whine, working up to a deafening scream as the engines blasted to life. The ceiling retracted, revealing the brilliant afternoon sky above. Tsunami clutched to the arms of her seat and dropped her head back, her eyes slamming shut.

"I forgot how much I hate take-off in this thing," she muttered. Her left hand was carefully removed from its death-like clutch on the chair and wrapped in warmth. She glanced over to see Gambit stroking her fingers. He smiled reassuringly at her before giving her hand a kiss. Behind her she could hear Wolverine growl with disapproval.

Within seconds, the jet had lifted out of the underground hangar via vertical take-off and soared through the sky at incredible speeds. The cabin began to shake under the intense force, groaning slightly as Cyclops started the pressurizing process to ease the tension. Once they had reached a constant, comfortable speed, the team relaxed.

"We'll need to find a place to stay while we're searching for this group," Jean said as she opened up a tablet.

"Leave dat t'me," Gambit spoke up, crossing his arms behind his head. "Dey's a place I know dat nobody bothers with. See, de folk of N'Awlins, dey superstitious. Lot of people believe in ghosts an' magic. Some of it passed down o'er generations, some swear on dey lives dey see a spirit or even had a spell cast on dem. Even wit' knowledge of mutant abilities an' science not being so much a mystery, th'past hard t'shake.

"I gotta house. Mais, not really my house, but I had a friend who, let's just say, he not dere anymore. He was a mutant, able t'send astral projections o' himself walkin' around, did it most o' th'time at night. He thought it was funny as hell! Scared th'shit outta lot o' snooping kids. Word spread de house was haunted."

"So, what happened to him?" Cyclops asked.

"What happen t'ev'ryone when dey get old, he pass away. He din' have any heirs, no kids o' his own, no wife. An' since he done scare ev'ryone away no one want de house. So, I take it. It's a nice house; used t'be a plantation estate, an' I wasn't 'bout t'let it crumble to th'ground."

"Then it's stolen?" Wolverine grumbled, staring at Gambit with open distrust.

"Dat depend on your definition of 'stolen', homme," Gambit shot back a bright red glare at his adversary.

Wolverine growled again and leaned forward closer to Tsunami.

"Your boyfriend's gonna get us all arrested. Is he worth a blemish on your permanent record?"

"Shall we count all the times you put the Team in jeopardy?" she shot back, turning in her seat to offer him a dark frown.

The slightest bit of hurt passed over Wolverine's face before he returned her scowl.

"Oh, this is going to be the most fun I've ever had," Emma retorted sarcastically. "If anyone needs me, I'll be immersed in Downton Abbey." And with that, she ignored the others as she turned on her tablet to watch the show.

O . . . O . . . O

The house could've been beautiful, perhaps even qualify as a historic landmark if it was fixed up right. But the white paint was flaking off the siding, half the shutters were falling off the hinges, and the upper level was blanketed in Spanish moss. It also didn't help appearances when it was blatantly apparent that the lawn hadn't been mowed or treated with fertilizer in years, perhaps decades. Even the gargoyles that guarded the entrance seemed more forlorn than usual.

"Y'all don' wanna be here," they seemed to project, long talons covering their deep-browed faces with shame.

"I thought you said this was a nice house," Wolverine rumbled lowly. "This place is a dump!"

"Ey! No one asked you, homme! Don' like it, go sumwhere else," Gambit crossed his arms over his gleaming breastplate.

"With pleasure, Gumbo."

"Wait, wait!" Cyclops laid a hand on their shoulders, only to have Wolverine shrug his right hand off. "No one leaves the Team. We need to stick together. Maybe it's better on the inside."

"I do hope so," Emma replied as she opened the gate with her handkerchief. "The first creature I see inside that is not meant to be kept as an indoor pet I'm leaving for the nearest four-star hotel."

"So, I'm not here dat often. It need a lil work, but it livable," Gambit shrugged absently.

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, Gambit, but it's not looking good," Cyclops said with apprehension.

The six entered the dilapidated estate, each one, but for the "owner", poised for anything; walls covered in fungus, mice, water moccasins, very small rocks, among other unpleasantries. But as the dim light of the setting sun revealed the indoors, their fears were quickly thrown to the side. The outside may have been in desperate need for repairs but, in truth, it hid the beauty hiding behind the door.

Thick, dark red drapes flanked the large windows. Carefully restored crystal-covered chandeliers hung from the ceiling shimmering brilliant spectrum across the dark red cherry floors. A long, winding stairway curved elegantly up to the second story of the house. Antique furniture sat along a variety of fine carpets, offering comfortable yet regal places to relax.

Gambit stretched his arms out widely before absently dropping his collapsed staff into a nearby umbrella stand next to the door.

"Bienvenue a la chez LeBeau," he said with open pride. "Th'outside may not look all dat appealin', but, as I said, it need work. Remodelin' takes time."

"This is, this place is amazing!" Emma breathed in amazement. "Did you fix all of this yourself?"

"Some of it, oui, mais, de furniture, dat chandelier, th'rugs, all came wit' th'house. Ole Man Paulson, he come from a long line of wealthy folk. His grandpere was a general in th'Civil War, made his money from sugar cane an' tobacco. It passed from hand t'hand over th' years, stayed in th'family, until now. Any living relatives don' want it. Too much work, I heard, an' some don' want de attachment to havin' ancestors who owned slaves an' such. But it still a good house."

"It's lovely, Gambit," Jean smiled. "It'll be a great place to stay while we're here."

"Need t'start th'electricity. An' dere is well water, so no need t'worry about showers an' such. I start the juice an' we be in good business," he explained as he headed back outside.

"How are you going to do that?" Tsunami asked as she followed him out. "Do you have a generator?"

He turned around to face her, winking as he pulled a card from his coat pocket.

"Baby, Gambit _is_the generator."

She watched as the card began to glow a soft pink light, slowly becoming brighter until it was so brilliant that she could barely stare at it without the need to avert her sight. It was carefully placed inside the breaker box against a set of exposed wires. The sound of sparks caused her to jump back in surprise.

"Et, voila, chere!" he smiled and closed the panel. "Don' tell me dere no such thing as renewable energy. I got fifty-one more lil power plants I can fire up."

"Ingenious!" she laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"What you call 'ingenious' some would call cheatin'. Now, shall we find sumthin' t'eat?"

"Um… just what are you suggesting?" a worried tone came from her.

"What else you think, eh? We go catch us some frogs, some crayfish, realize we are terrible at fishin', den get down at th'store," he joked.

O . . . O . . . O

"We'll try to gain access to the Department of Anthropology tomorrow morning," Jean said as they sat around the dining room table eating pizza. "We might find some clues where they're failing to look."

"Why would Magneto want a book written by some ancient Roman?" Wolverine grumbled.

"Josephus wasn't just some random Roman," Tsunami began. "He was one of the key voices to understanding the Roman/Jewish War in the first century A.D. Many of his writings were considered blasphemy and sympathetic to the enemy by many Jews from Galilee, but through understanding his books, modern day scholars have been able to translate The Dead Sea Scrolls and even paint a brighter and broader picture of the Roman Empire and the beginnings of Christianity.

"If this book is, indeed, actually written by him it's most likely priceless. Magneto could have very well stolen it to use as a sort of hostage as a means to get ransom money."

"That's not really his style," Emma shook her head. "Magneto's never been one to take something as a way to threaten the authorities to give him money. If he plans to threaten the public he usually has a logical reason, no matter how insane we may see it. That book must have something that will garner him an advantage in his personal war against humans."

"We can figure that out tomorrow," Jean stood up and downed the last drink of her soda. "Right now we need to get some rest and prepare for anything."

"You an' Scott can have th'master bedroom. An' dere's t'ree more rooms plus th'parlor. No lack for places t'sleep," Gambit mentioned as he helped clean up the pizza boxes.

"I'll take the parlor," Wolverine announced and dragged his luggage out of the foyer toward the aforementioned room.

"Y'know, don' think I ever had anyone hate me before really knowing anythin' 'bout me," Gambit shook his head. "Now, after knowing me for a few minutes, dat's a diff'rent story."

"Give him time," Jean smiled lightly. "Logan's not necessarily the most congenial member of the Team."

"Ain't dat th'truth. Anyone need me, I be in my room."

Tsunami watched him exit the dining room and sighed loudly. She started down the hall and picked up her luggage, attempting to decide which room she wanted to take. Two were quite small but she figured she didn't need a lot of room. Although, she wondered if she would need help getting out of the tight neoprene suit, and her thoughts immediately went back to Remy's promise of helping her out of it.

She stiffened when she felt something small being placed into her hands. Turning around, she faced Emma who wore a rather knowing smirk on her lovely features.

"Be safe, dear. And, most of all, have fun!"

She looked down to see her right hand filled with four small plastic-wrapped pouches. The round indentation under the package made her blush brightly.

"Um, thanks, I think?"

"You're welcome!" Emma chirped and passed her up the stairs.

Tsunami followed behind, skulking sullenly into the small room across from the master bedroom. She quickly clenched her hands as she watched Jean and Cyclops approach, the condemning sound of plastic crinkling in her palms. Jean chuckled and shook her head, red ponytail bouncing off her shoulders as she patted her friend's shoulder.

"Emma's a good friend to you."

"Sometimes I wonder if it really is her looking out for me or if these are simply jokes for her own amusement," she grumbled and attempted to pull the suit off her arms, wondering if she would need to dislocate her shoulders to accomplish the feat. Jean closed the door and, with some force, helped rip the suit down Tsunami's torso.

"Maybe a little of both. God, that's tight! How did you even- the rest of this is up to you."

She thanked her and dropped onto the small twin-sized bed, nearly falling off it as she bounced up.

"Anyway, have a good night. And try to be up before 6 AM so we can get to the University before it the press wakes up. With hope, they'll sleep in on Sundays."

"Yes, ma'am," she saluted and watched Jean close the door.

She threw on a loose tee-shirt and shorts over her underwear and settled back down onto the bed. Despite the musty smell of "unlived-in house", and the nervousness of volunteering for something possibly dangerous, she was starting to feel a little more comfortable.

The knock on her door interrupted her train of thought.

"Yes?"

"You picked th'smallest room, chere; how you able t'breathe?" he teased as he entered.

"It's fine. Feels like my old dorm room from college."

"Non, non, dis not work. You can bunk wit' me. Hell, my chaise lounge is bigger dan dat bed!" He grabbed her luggage and started down the hall much to her shock. "C'mon, it's alright. Dere's a bathroom where you don' have t'fight over wit' anyone else. An' if you still wanna room to y'own I'll take dat lil broom closet, oui?"

"Well, alright," she agreed and quickly grabbed the four wrappers she hid in the bedside stand, shoving them into her pocket.

O . . . O . . . O

The room was big. She was sure there were better words to use to describe the size, and it wasn't even the master bedroom. _The bed looks comfortable_, she thought and pressed her hand against the mattress to test that theory. Sighing lowly, she sat down and grabbed the book that was resting inside the nightstand. The sound of water spraying from the shower head muffled Remy's absent humming. She glanced over at the chaise lounge and wondered if she could possibly sleep on it. Just in case, she contemplated.

"Settlin' in alright, chere?" Remy's questioning made her look up from the book. She had a smile on her face until she gazed upon his slightly damp figure, and her smile fell as her jaw slacked.

His hair, still wet, fell over his right eye letting occasional drops of water slide onto his broad shoulders and chest. A light sprinkling of soft hair speckled over his pectorals and trailed down his abdomen only to thicken and hide beneath the white towel wrapped around his trim waist. He smiled suggestively as he approached.

"I think so," she nodded and closed the book.

"You ready for tomorrow?" he asked and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I'm not sure, but I suppose I have to be."

"It be alright, ma belle. We gotta good team," he lifted her hand up to his lips and gently kissed it. "Even if dat hairy lil Canuck don' like me."

Ada reached out and, cautiously, ran a hand through the wet locks. Better judgment told her that she should've tried to get some rest. The hangover from earlier and the fact that tomorrow hovered in her mind with the threat of unpredictability should've sent her straight to sleep. But he was there, so very close and so very unclothed…

Without a word, she straddled his lap, tilting his head up to get a deeper look into his ruby eyes. His hands slid up her back under her shirt. Lithe fingers quickly unclasped her bra to free her breasts.

"Is dis what you want, baby?" he whispered and drew his thumbs over the pert nipples, hardening them into firm buds.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt his touch. She let her eyelids flutter rapidly and noticed the little jolts that throbbed in her sex. Subtly, she moved her groin across his before she unwrapped the towel to gaze in admiration at his nudity. He was already partially aroused.

Her hands drifted down his chest and she watched his muscles twitch against her fingernails.

"Oh, yes," she answered in a soft breath.

He carefully drew her shirt over her head and removed the bra, licking his lips and focused on her full breasts. His head dropped back as he felt her hand wrap around his length and begin slowly stroking. A low groan exited his throat. He pressed his lips to her neck, gently suckling and nipping at her throat and collarbone. She missed a beat once or twice when he reached her breasts but he noticed that she also picked up the pace.

"N-not so fast, chere," he groaned and pulled her head down to meet his lips.

The kiss was hard, nearly desperate, and echoed the passion and desire each had for the other. Tongues curled and fought with every pass that their lips made contact. Deftly, he rolled her onto her back without pulling away from the embrace. One hand slipped down to slide her shorts and panties off her legs while the other combed through her thick hair. Her skin was so soft against his calloused palms, velvet next to rawhide he thought. He glanced into her turquoise blue eyes and smiled as he drew his fingers up her wet core. She was ready, he knew, but he wanted to take his time with her, to make her cry out his name as though he were some secret sex god.

She shuddered and instinctively lifted her groin against his touch. Unsure if the tingle she felt was some of his talent or just from being severely aroused, she drifted her fingers down over her erect nipples and sighed in pleasure. It all felt so damn good and she was more than eager to get him inside her.

"You're a fucking tease," she smirked.

"Whatsa matter? You in a hurry?" he taunted back before gently biting the apex of her shoulder and neck.

He kissed a trail down her stomach, tongue laving slowly around her navel in his travels, until he reached her pelvis. Her legs were flung over his shoulders and spread wide. It had been a while since he performed oral; his past encounters with partners were, at best, mediocre and rather quick. He wanted to lavish every bit of attention he could on Adaliah, let her wanting him consume his being. His lips brushed over the smooth crease separating her leg from her groin, teasing her just a little more. Fingertips touched her warmth again; the pad of his thumb gently circled the small, tender bud delicately hidden beneath the neatly trimmed mound. She gasped louder that time, whispering "yes" to him.

Ada's back arched as she felt his tongue flick up her center. She moaned and panted heavily, pumped her body in rhythm against his mouth. Just to feel his breath cooling the moisture of her flesh was enough to make her writhe, but knowing what he was doing to her with that tongue and those lips… God! She could barely hold on to her sanity. Her hands gripped at the blankets and pillows, clawing madly at the sheets with taut fingers and white knuckles. The deep, rich throb in her core began to heat her muscles and skin. Fingers played through the jagged layers of his chin-length hair, drawing his head closer to her. Her toes curled and her brow broke into a cold sweat. The sound that came from her throat was animalistic, raspy and cracked from the release of the orgasm. Her heart raced and her breath fell in shallow beats on her parted lips. Every molecule within her seemed to sing in joy for the intense sensations zipping through her nerves.

For the past two years of her life she sought pleasure through her own means, and, while there was the feeling of satisfaction after the acts, they were temporary. A small, semi-anatomically correct object couldn't hold her near and fill her with the sense of security. There was nothing like having another warm body to lay next to her, caress her skin with either fingers or lips until they both fell asleep. It was the ultimate form of intimacy, sharing not only passion and desire but personal space with someone she considered worthy of her time.

The sound of latex snapping brought her back to reality. She opened her eyes and watched him toss the empty wrapper onto the floor, and smiled to herself.

_The sneaky fox found them!_She laughed to herself as he crawled back to her, grinning like a happy predator who had discovered his willing prey.

He grazed his lips over her flushed breasts, tongue flicking over her pink, beaded skin just so he could hear her soft, sweet begging. His length pressed against her throbbing sex, teasing her again. She wanted all of him in the worst way, and when he moved off of her she blinked in surprise, even growling with irritation

Her aggravation ended when he had turned her around and coaxed her onto his lap. As she lowered down, her head flung back onto his shoulder when she felt him slide deep into her wet center, inch by deliciously wicked inch. She nearly laughed out loud as she heard him gasp.

"Mmm, ma chere," he breathed in her ear as he rocked and pumped in and out of her. "Ca fait du tres bien!"

The French words pouring from his mouth and falling onto her neck was just as arousing as any bit of touching he performed. She had been attracted to him from the moment she watched him saunter into that kitchen and purred a warm, sexy greeting, but this was beyond any kind of fantasy she had tried to imagine herself in. Perhaps it was his accent or just him being, well, him, that made the words sound so downright dirty and erotic.

"Keep talking, sweetheart," she begged and met his mouth with hers for a deep, sensuous kiss.

A throaty chuckle vibrated against her tongue as he laughed.

More phrases were whispered against her skin paired with kisses or nips on her neck and shoulders. He tried to capture every inch of her body by touching and tasting her. It was cliché to think that she would be so different from other women he had been with, but, if he was to admit it, she somehow was. Perhaps it was the fact that he was starting to feel something deep and complex for her that made the sex more intense. At this point with any other of his former lovers, he would've already blown his load and shuffled off to his side of the bed to fall asleep.

The more he got of Ada the more he wanted, and not just physically. The sex was good, really good! The way she touched him and coaxed him to keep going, the sensations of feeling her body press against his, it was possibly the best he ever had. But he wondered if a large majority of the experience was due to his emotions. Either way, he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Oh, mon Dieu," he gasped as he felt his shaft harden with each stroke. "Adaliah, baby!"

She moaned loudly as the head of his cock hit the soft little spot inside her. Writhing against him, she gripped tightly to his thighs and squeezed herself around him as another orgasm began to fire up. He was so fucking hard! It made her speed up her rhythm; get to that point of white-hot heat she craved so desperately to feel again.

"Harder, Remy," she demanded.

He complied and rammed himself deeper and with more intensity. He felt her clench again and smiled as she cried out once more; a wild groan that easily translated into her signalling that she had climaxed again. The sound of her impassioned mews and the way she grabbed at his hips and ass made him lose control of the orgasm he tried not to release. He pressed his forehead against her sweat-dampened back and grit his teeth as the heat shot through his body. His muscles twitched. He groaned her name again and tasted the salt off her skin before loosening his grip on her.

When he opened his eyes everything in his sight suddenly seemed so brilliant and clear. Carefully he pulled out and threw away the condom before dropping down to the pillows. A content smile curled crooked on his mouth as he wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her against his heated chest.

"You still want dat chaise lounge?" he joked and kissed her cheek.

"I think I can manage, just as long as you don't snore," she returned with a soft chuckle.

"Never been told I do dat. An' if I do, pass me a slap."

She laughed again and wove her fingers between his, examining the detail of his hands. They were nice hands, long-fingered and kept well -groomed but not too soft. Good masculine hands, she decided, and she kissed each one.

"We should be sleeping," she murmured and glanced over at his metallic pink breastplate leaning against the wall. A funny thought crossed her mind as she stared at the object.

_How the hell does he not get seen in that thing? He's a professional thief, right? Well, ex-pro thief… Still, it's more obvious than the Las Vegas strip at night!_

"We will," he cooed, lips rubbing against her shoulder. "Don' know if I can right now. Too amped."

"Yeah," she agreed, light touches running up and down his forearms. "I still don't know if I'm ready for tomorrow."

"No one ever ready for t'morrow, if ya wanna get truthful 'bout it. You can prepare all to your lil heart's content, but somehow life'll fuck your plans in one way or th'other. Dat's why I play ev'rythin' by ear, 'cause y'never know what might happen. Dey's a possibility I could say sumthin' really stupid an' you'll give me a well-deserved punch, but right now I'm happy t'have you in my arms. Livin' in th'moment."

"Why do you think you'll say something stupid?" she turned her head to look into his eyes.

"It's happened before. Guess she didn' like me saying that she was kinda boring," he shrugged. "Mais, I'm a bit too honest at times."

"Was I boring?" she challenged.

The smile that crested up Remy's lips reflected in his red eyes. "Baby, you a sky full o' fireworks. Always sumthin' excitin' an' beautiful, an' I can't wait for more."

"You get that from someone else?" she laughed.

"Ey, now, Gambit a poet! Dem coffee-house beatniks ain't got nuthin' on me."

"I believe that!"

He snickered before kissing her deeply.

"An' I believe I'm gonna find it hard t'concentrate on anythin' else 'sides you. I'm way beyond jus' likin' you, chere."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his embrace.

"I feel the same way."

*edited by the lovely and talented barbex- go read her stuff. She's bloody brilliant!*

(It should be noted that when the X-Men are mentioned by their codenames they are in "uniform" and preferred to be recognized thusly. When in casual "civvies" they go by their birth names. Just in case you're curious as to why I did that... anyway... carry on! Oh, and thanks for reading!)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Breaking and Entering

They approached the yellow-tape blockade which still had a few cops and university police huddled around the entrance. Tsunami's gut dropped, fearing that the team would have to admit defeat and find another way to stop Magneto.

"We can go about this a number of ways," Cyclops began. "We could ask them nicely, but seeing six weirdos walking up to them in spandex and leather probably won't help our case. Jean or Emma could use telepathy to help us gain access," he glanced back at his wife and Emma in question.

"If all else fails, I will intervene," Jean sighed. "But I'd like to find another way first."

"No need t'do dat, mes amies," Gambit smirked and tightened the collar of his duster around his neck. "Gambit got a trick t'use on 'em."

"You gonna talk them to death?" grumbled Wolverine.

Turning on his boot heels, Gambit shot him a heated red scowl, his smirk curling into a deep snarl.

"Mais, no, mon petit couyon! All I need t'do is get dem to pay me a lil attention."

"You'll get plenty of it in that get-up you're sportin, Bub."

"Are you two ever going to stop bickering like a couple of immature boys on the playground?" Emma admonished.

Gambit straightened himself out, chin held high with pride, and offered Emma a polite nod.

"Mo chagren," he offered. "Now, you want my help or not?"

Cyclops looked to the others on the team, taking the good sense to overlook Wolverine shaking his head. The other three nodded in agreement.

"Alright, Gambit, give it your best shot. Jean and Emma, be prepared to back him up if needed."

"Merci, bossman."

The five remained in the shadowed corner and watched the long-coated, cocky Cajun approach the police, casually flipping three cards in his lithe fingertips all the while.

"Gentlemen!" he greeted cheerfully. "Bonjour! And what a lovely mornin' it is, non?"

The uniformed gaggle turned to regard the trespasser with surprise and immediately changed their stun to sharp frowns and distrust.

"Sorry, sir, this wing is closed and you're a little bit early for Halloween, aren't ya?" one officer joked, causing the others to snicker in reply. "Hey, whatchu supposed to be anyway?"

More laughter erupted from the cops. Gambit smiled and shrugged, chuckling along with them.

"Oh, accordin' to yo' mama, I'm her last wet dream," he insulted.

The police immediately stopped laughing.

"Son, I'm warnin' you, get outta here now or I'll have you arrested for trespassin' and harassin' the police."

Remy's smile faded, leaving his handsome features placid and still. He focused intently on each officer and began to speak clearly, devoid of accent or any kind of distinguished tone. His ruby stare intensified, glowing like hot coals. Every officer was locked in a hypnotic trance, their faces relaxed to the point that even a couple began to drool.

"I know you good folk are performing your civic duties by keeping the public away from the crime scene, but I desperately need to get inside the archives. It's very important. Please, say you'll let me and my company in. We won't be long."

The officer who had threatened him only a moment before smiled brightly and nodded furiously.

"Absolutely, sir! Lemme just get that tape for ya."

"You are too kind. And thank you for all your hard work to keep everyone in this city safe."

The tape was pulled away from the door and the police all stood back, smiling like the welcome party for a member of royalty. Gambit waved back to the rest of the Team, a satisfied grin revealing his snow-white teeth.

"How did- how did you do that?" Tsunami asked as she regarded the officers, one even waving in greeting to her.

"Gambit always prepared with a few tricks up his sleeves. Dey won't be out of it for long, so do what you gotta do, chere."

The archives were a massive library with long windows that had been tinted to protect any antique books and their contents. Some of the sections were guarded by wide cases of Plexiglas with narrow doors, meaning that only one person could enter the shelves at a time. Unsure where to begin, the team split off into different directions to search for clues. For several minutes, Tsunami searched along the open shelves for any signs of missing books, but there were plenty gaps where a number could have been taken and she had no idea how the archives were categorized. Temptation to touch a few of the more interesting tomes was strong, but she kept her hands in tight fists at the small of her back.

"Bet you'd like to work in a place like this, huh?" Wolverine's raspy voice interrupted her thoughts.

She whipped her head around to regard him, finding his expression soft and wistful.

"I tried to get into a place like this. They didn't take too kindly that I was 'different'," she answered.

"Shame. I think you'd love this kind of stuff."

A faint frown wrinkled her brow and she wondered just what he was getting at. Cautiously, she stepped back and turned her eyes away from him.

"I do love this kind of stuff. But I love the school more."

Wolverine opened his mouth to respond, a hand reaching out to touch her shoulder but was stopped when Gambit called for her.

"Ey, Tsunami, think I found sumthin' y'might find interestin'!"

He watched her slip away behind the corner and grit his teeth as he shook his head. He really hated that damn, arrogant, flirty-as-fuck Cajun.

Tsunami approached Gambit who stood near a PC set-up at one of the larger desks.

"I think dey's a way you can get dat book without really gettin' it," he smiled and flipped the computer on.

She examined the contraption, skeptical of his logic until she saw the one thing that made her realize just how intelligent the man was.

"That's… that's a very big scanner," she remarked.

"Yeah, baby, it is, an' if I'm thinkin' right, don't most o' dese places make copies o' books so dey can work on 'em without really workin' on 'em?"

"Yes, my dear, they do indeed!" she leaned over the computer and watched him access the files. When he was stopped a firewall, he reached into his pocket and produced a thin black thumb drive.

"You're planning on stealing it?" she whispered.

"You t'ink dey gonna let us back in here? L'enfer, non! We gonna just 'borrow' what we need, an' thank the nice boys in blue out front for being so hospitable," he gave her a quick peck on the lips before running for the back of the archives room.

"Where are you going?" Cyclops asked.

"To get rid o' evidence o' our untimely visitation, unless you want us to be on th'five o'clock news," he replied then headed for the door, singing the lyrics to "A Little Less Conversation" in his scratchy tenor vocals on his way out.

Sighing loudly and letting his shoulders droop, Cyclops turned to Emma and pointed in the direction Gambit sauntered toward.

"Keep an eye on him, if you don't mind."

The computer was a fount of information, and again it was terribly tempting not to grab every single book she saw listed in the catalogue. Luckily, she was able to find the very book she needed as it was the last text read in the server.

"Bingo!" she whispered and immediately sent a copy to the drive. "Got it!"

"Great! Now let's get Gambit back here and get the hell out before we're thrown into jail," Cyclops approached.

The security hub was a mix of modern day convenience and simplicity meaning that locating the camera feeds and blanking them would've been just as strenuous as blinking for him. Grabbing the small pulse emitter from an inner pocket, he carefully attached it to the back panel of the camera feed and powered it up. He turned on the monitors and watched the screens become fuzzy with broadcasted snow. Satisfied with his work, he grabbed the emitter, and turned on his heels, prepared to return to the archives room but slid to a halt when he saw Emma blocking his path.

She looked him up and down with an intrigued and sensuous stare, arms crossed over her chest.

"Ca va bien?" he asked with a grin.

"I want to know how you were able to hypnotize those cops," she demanded.

"Th'same way you able t'get people to do what you want," he shrugged and stared back into her eyes. "You got your ways, Gambit got his."

"I wasn't aware you were a psi. It was assumed your abilities were mainly physical-contact related."

Gambit shoved his hands deep into his pockets and pursed his lips in thought.

"Does dat mean you lost trust in me 'cause I failed t'mention dat lil detail?"

"Did you really fail to mention it? And, the next question is, have you hypnotized any of us?" she asked and approached closer.

"Non," he shook his head. "It don' work on intelligent people, jus' on th'easily impressionable."

"Can I truly believe that?"

"Can you? Dat up to you, Emma. But I tell ya de truth; never attempted it. You'd know."

"And what about Ada? Did you charm her?" Her frown deepened.

"Like I say; it only work on th'weak-minded. Ada's too smart an' I'd never do dat t'her. My feelin's f'her go a lot deeper dan you think."

"I won't have you hurting her; she's one of my best friends and she's emotionally fragile. Of course, that would make her easy prey to you," she turned her head to the side and smiled coldly. "Someone with your ability would find her quite useful, wouldn't you?"

Gambit's eyes narrowed and sparked with anger.

"If you lookin' t'cause trouble, you getting' awfully damn close, oui? I care for her, simple or as complicated, if you will, as dat. I don' care if you don' like me, don' trust me, whatever. But you accuse me o' usin' her, we gonna have problems."

Emma nodded solemnly and stepped back.

"I don't detect any lying, although now I can't be certain it's true, but I believe you."

"Th'inquisition over den?" he snidely asked.

"For now. If you're finished, we need to get going and meet back with the rest."

Gambit ran a hand through his bangs, flipping them to the right side of his face, then started for the archive entrance with Emma close behind.

With the thumb drive secured in a hidden pocket, Tsunami started to follow Cyclops when the alarms began to wail. The six stopped in their tracks, each one, but for Gambit, wearing a mask of panic. Jean pulled feebly on the inner doors before letting go in defeat.

"Locked," she announced in a weak voice.

Wolverine glared at Gambit. "Got any more Jedi tricks to get us the fuck out of here, Obi Wan?"

Without missing a beat, the Cajun waved his hand before Wolverine's face and began to speak in a very bad British accent. "These aren't the droids you're looking for."

"Guys, we're about to make headlines in the paper, so could we please figure out how to get out of here?!" Tsunami yelled.

Gambit slung a casual arm around her shoulder, smirking at Wolverine, before spinning on his right foot and leading them toward the door in the back of the room. They all followed him down into the basement only to discover that there was no way out.

"This is great. This is just great! You led us into a trap! Good thinking, Gumbo!"

"You startin' t'get on my last nerve, homme. Dey's always a way out; I jus' gotta find it," Gambit scanned the ceiling, searching for a path along the complex circulatory system above his head.

The pipes began to converge at one point against the far corner and dropped away beneath the concrete floor. But, next to the pipes was a large ventilation shaft which was paired with a round, yellow-painted maintenance ladder.

"Follow th'yellow brick road," he sang and waved the others to follow. They climbed the ladder, several levels worth, up to an opening leading to the rooftop.

"Okay, now what?" Cyclops asked and glanced over the edge only to see a large squad of police cars, sirens wailing, barreling down the road.

Gambit joined him, hunkering down to hide behind the roof's ledge, and spotted an old fire hydrant where the cars were stopping. Another slick grin snaked up his lips.

"Ah, parfait! Tsunami, mon Coeur, may I show you sumthin'?"

Tsunami joined the two at the ledge and regarded him in question.

"Y'see dat fire hydrant down dere on th'corner? I gonna need your help t'create a lil diversion."

She focused on the partially rusted red implement resting inconspicuously on the corner of the street and felt her stomach tie into tight, uncomfortable knots. At the same time she could feel the deep reservoir beneath the hydrant. Her hands gripped to the ledge. She was both terrified and tempted.

"I know you afraid, baby, but if we gonna get outta here I need you t'make it rain," he kissed her hand.

Tsunami glanced over Gambit at Cyclops who gave her an assured nod. She breathed out a hard puff of air and dropped her head down to the ledge.

_I'm so scared, I'm so fucking scared_, she thought over and over, her body tightening each muscle as the anxiety grew. Suddenly, a peaceful calm entered her mind and she knew that Emma had formed a faint mental link with her.

_You can do it, dear. I believe in you._

Swallowing her fears, she stood back and focused on the hydrant.

_Goddess, _the still water beneath the sidewalk cooed to her. _Release…_

Her hands balled into tight fists and her blood pumped hot in her veins. The pull was incredibly addictive, seductive, calming just as much as filling her with the desire to draw every drop up to her. She could feel the molecules beginning to dance to the rhythm of her heartbeat. One hand lifted, fingers stretched out, and felt the pressure begin to push beneath the metal and concrete, begging to be released.

_Not yet_, she warned both herself and the reservoir. _But soon…_

Gambit grabbed a card from his pocket and charged it. The kinetic energy within the cardstock hissed like an angry cobra. His jaw squared firmly and his eyes narrowed as he began to gauge just how far and how hard he would need to throw the little rectangular object. With the accuracy of a sniper, he launched the card and hit directly on the top cap, causing the energy he fired up to create a large explosion, breaking the hydrant into several large metal chunks.

The water bubbled for a split second, contemplating its new status of freedom before spraying like a wild geyser. Higher and higher it shot into the air, flooding the streets, drowning the nearby squad cars, and causing chaos among the small army of police officers below.

Gambit looked over at Tsunami and saw the determined glow in her eyes. Her lips were parted in a gasp and her cheeks flushed with excitement and power. He had seen that look on her face before only hours ago; it was the same expression she made right at the cusp of climaxing.

"We gotta go, chere," he whispered and pulled her away from the ledge.

The water continued to spout up as the Team climb down the emergency ladder and ran away toward the rental vehicles parked on the other side of the campus. Tsunami shrank down low in her seat, aching head dropped into her hands. She fought the tears that burned down in her sinuses and proceeded to stare out the window in order to brush away the negative thoughts swarming in her brain.

"You did good, baby," Gambit praised gently and patted her leg.

Her resolve finally broke and she burst into uncontrollable sobbing. Hot, ugly tears raced down her red face as she fought to breathe over the hard hitching of her cries. It had been years since she wept this hard and it hurt.

Gambit pulled the car over and parked it before taking her into his arms. She clutched to him, burying her head into his neck. He rocked her back and forth as though she were a child, kissing her head and whispering softly.

"Ey, now, ma belle. Tu vas bien? You okay?"

"I-I don't kn-know," she stuttered, gasping for air.

"Shh, it's okay. It gonna be okay, chere. You cry all you want. Je suis ici."

He continued to whisper calming phrases to her until she slowed the sobbing and pulled away.

"Let's go," she sniffled and dried her eyes.

"You sho?" he asked.

Tsunami nodded and stared down at her lap, dabbing away any stray tears that dared to fall onto her cheeks.

"Okay, baby. I get you back down to m'home."

O . . . O . . . O

Ada stared through the laptop screen, her thoughts a million miles away from her physical state. She drummed her fingernails on the desk, completely ignoring anything around her.

_ADALIAH! _Jean's loud mind yelled into hers, ripping her back into the present.

"Huh?" she asked dully, her eyes glazed over from her daydreaming.

"I asked if you wanted any take-out," Jean answered. "As a matter of fact, I've been trying to get your attention for a couple of minutes. Are you sure you're okay?"

Ada sighed and rose from her seat, weakened from her emotionally draining cry.

"I'm fine. Really. Just had a good dose of reality slap me in the face," she admitted.

Jean pulled her into a gentle, friendly hug, rubbing her back in the process.

"It's okay, Ada. I understand. You did great today, by the way."

"Thanks. Actually, I'll take a little bit and keep working on the book. I really don't want to quit unless I have to."

"Have you found anything yet?"

"No, not really. Most of it covers a lot of things that has already been known. The battle of Masada, the laws of the Roman Empire. There's nothing truly remarkable that I've been able to discover as of yet. But I'm hoping I find something."

"I'll make you a plate and have it brought up, if you want," Jean smiled gently.

Ada nodded in thanks and sat back down to stare at the screen with open frustration. In truth, she barely tolerated reading the quickly written Greek text, easily translating the words and found that Josephus was nothing more than an arrogant, self-inflated narcissist. While his account of that time may have been seen as important to the modern age, the more she read his journal the more she disliked him. She discovered a few inflated truths already which caused her to shake her head.

"You were just as much a Pharisee as I am the President of the Butter of the Month Club," she grumbled in frustration.

"Okay, so you don' want Pad Thai?" Remy's smoky voice drifted through her translation-clouded mind.

Ada blinked and refiltered the words he spoke, shutting down her secondary ability and realized she was hearing English once again.

"Oh, sorry, Remy; come on in," she invited.

She stood up from the desk chair and stretched her stiff muscles, breathing in the appetizing smell of her dinner.

"Not really fair, ev'ryone else downstairs playin' Scrabble an' you up here workin'," he pulled her close, hands sliding up and down her back.

"This was the reason why I volunteered," she shrugged. "I'm not bitter."

"You learnin' anythin'?"

"Yeah," her upper lips curled. "I've learned that Josephus had a bigger ego than Kim Kardashian. 'Oh, life is harrrrrd! My parents are wealthy!' Not disclosing that what he went through was perhaps difficult, but he stretches the truth further than a politician."

Remy chuckled and tilted her chin up to plant a kiss on her lips.

"You need a break, chere?"

She shook her head and traced the screen-printed letters on his shirt, snickering to herself as she read "I wear the cheese; it does not wear me."

"I'll sit and eat a few bites then get back to it. There's gotta be a reason why Magneto thought this book was so important. But, as of right now, it's nothing more than a 'dear diary, my life sucks' account."

"Want me t'leave you alone?" he purred and dipped his head down to graze at her neck.

Ada sighed and dropped her head back, giving him a greater access to her throat. She pressed herself tighter to him, tempted to ignore both her work and her dinner just to spend a few moments reliving the ecstasy from the night before.

"Not yet," she whispered and kissed him.

A deep, throaty groan rumbled in his chest when he felt her fingers dance over his groin, coaxing it to stiffen under her light touch.

"We should lock th'door, baby," he murmured. "Dey's a key in th'desk."

Suddenly, she pulled back and stared at him with the strangest expression.

"A key…" she whispered. "A key, a- a key!" she smiled brightly and nearly bounced on her toes. "That's it! A key!"

She leapt away and flung herself back into the desk chair, waking the laptop. Remy shook himself out of the daze and regarded her in curiosity and concern.

"Sumthin' th'matter?" he asked.

"I thought that phrase was a little odd, especially where it was in the text," she scrolled back onto one of the first pages of the book and ran her fingernail just under the line in question.

"Í̱tan to kleidí gia ti̱n ákri̱ tou fýllou," she spoke. "It was the key on the edge of the leaf."

"And what does dat mean?" he rested his hands on the back of her chair, leaning down to get a glimpse of what she was reading.

"Pages in books are sometimes referred to as leaves. A key on the edge of a leaf… a key… oh, my God! Remy, look! There… there's a key on the edge of this page!"

He squinted his eyes and, indeed, did see a crude drawing of what appeared to be a key.

"Dere's writin' next t'it. Very tiny," he pointed.

Ada zoomed in on the key and revealed the minute script beneath.

"It's in Latin. It says 'The Death of the Heavens and Earth will be whispered on lips of hyacintho.'"

"Hyacintho?"

"Blue. What does that mean?" she rubbed her chin. "When people die, or when oxygen is low, people's lips turn blue. It still doesn't make sense."

"I've heard dat word before."

She spun around to look at him in wonder.

"Where?"

"Hyacintho Clavis; th' Blue Key. It's an ancient relic, s'posed t'be linked to some great treasure. I've seen pictures o' it, an' I heard someone tried t'steal it once, but never succeeded. Last I heard it was in th'collection of Marcus Ifans. I guess he's a big-time fanboy fo' all things linked to th'Roman Empire."

"Marcus Ifans the billionaire?"

"Th'one an' only, chere," Remy grinned wickedly.

"We need to get that key!" she exclaimed with excitement.

"Mais, oui, we do. An' I know jus' where t'start lookin'."

*notes- a "couyon" is Cajun-French for "idiot".

* Chapter edited by barbex. Thanks again, dear!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Virgil's Bar 'n' Grille

"What exactly is this Hyacintho Clavis?" Scott asked.

The Team had assembled in the parlor to discuss the findings and decide their next course of action.

"In all honesty, I dunno," Remy shrugged. "I've seen photos. It's a lil thing, 'bout five inches across, and made of lapis lazuli. Dey's a legend dat it open th'tomb of one of th'last pharaohs of Egypt, but I dunno how true dat is. Last I heard Marcus Ifans is still in possession of it, but in order t'be sho, I gotta go talk to a few old acquaintances."

"Do I even want to know who these acquaintances of yours are?" Logan sneered.

"Las' I check, you weren't elected morality captain, podna."

"So, who do we need to talk to?" Jean inquired, ignoring the squabble.

"Dat'll be th'tricky part. Th'people who would know th'most about dat key, aside from Marcus Ifans himself, is th'Thieves Guild. Last time I was dere, lets jus' say I was bein' shown th'door."

"Then how do we talk to them?" Ada asked, shifting forward in her seat.

"Well, I suppose I can try t'make contact. An' if dey don' wanna talk, den we figure out a new plan."

"We need to get information as soon as we can," Scott mumbled.

"I'll go into town t'morrow, but I can't take y'all wit' me. Dey might look away from one other person. And even den it's questionable."

"Ada, you go with him. You're the one who discovered the key in the book."

She nodded and stifled a yawn. The Team was dismissed from the meeting, allowing her to shuffle back up the stairs where she collapsed onto the bed. Her eyes were sore, her brain decided to go on strike, and her body ached. There was a strange feeling of success and failure from the day. All she wanted, at that point, was to just fall asleep and reboot everything.

"Aww, baby," Remy purred. "You look like you ready t'pass out."

She felt his weight dip into the mattress. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her to his chest. She sighed wearily and relaxed her entire body. Her lids felt like fine-grit sandpaper against her eyes.

"Tell me I'm dreaming, Remy. Tell me I'm going to wake up be back in my room at home," she rasped.

"I wish I could," he kissed her shoulder. "Maybe t'morrow be a better day, non? Lil bit of rest, get you some coffee in t'mornin', an' we'll go track us down a thief. Aside from me, dat is."

Her brow furrowed in curiosity.

"Did you ever think that what you did as a thief was wrong?" she asked.

"Not often. See, we had targets and rules to abide by. It's not like I stole from th'common man, although in my youth I pick-pocketed anyone I could take from easily, but dat was before I was adopted," he sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

"All dese super-wealthy fools who think dat keepin' some flawless emerald locked away in a vault is gonna make dem even more special dan a poor fam'ly workin' two full-time jobs jus' t'make rent payment… you think that rich son-of-a-bitch care 'bout people starvin'? Or a bishop who dress in gold robes an' drink sacramental wine out of silver chalices is better dan a neighborhood priest who use ev'ry dollar he can scrape t'gether t'feed a few orphans? Wealth makes folks even more greedy an' numb to th'pains of dis world." He switched arms and shook out his hand when it went numb.

"I never stole from poor folk. Matter of fact, a lot of what I took I gave t'dose who were hurtin'. Ev'rybody deserve a chance t'be happy."

"A modern day Robin Hood. How charitable," she smiled. "It's still wrong, though. Didn't you ever consider that some of these people who are wealthy may have worked their asses to the bone just to get where they are?"

"I ain't talkin' 'bout dose who made themselves into sumthin' by workin' hard, chere. I mean royalty, socialites, dose who got rich off having a well-to-do name; people who contribute nuthin' t'makin' dis world better. Dose were m'targets.

"Oh, no, I took a pretty lil blue stone from deir collection! Pauvre Monsieur! He don' need it! Some lil kid who's fightin' cancer an' her mom an' dad can't afford th'treatments, dat's who need it," he said quietly but in a defensive tone.

"You really helped people like that?" she swallowed the hard lump that built up in her throat.

"Bien sur! My soul may be tarnished by my acts, but I had my reasons. 'sides, it's not up to man t'judge my actions for th'afterlife. I answer to God an' God alone."

"I'm surprised you believe in God."

"Why? Because o'my occupation or dat I'm a mutant?" he asked quietly. "I was raised in th'Church an' I still try t'be a good, lil Catholic boy. Despite all th'horrible things I've seen, I still have my faith even if it don' like me."

She turned around to face him, fingers tracing over his square jaw line.

"You are quite unique," she whispered.

"Is dat a nice way of sayin' I'm weird?" he teased.

"I like weird. Better than boring. And I know boring. I am the Queen of Borington."

"Mais, if dat th'case, den boring is very sexy!"

"And also very tired," she yawned before cuddling against him.

Remy chuckled and kissed the top of her head. Gently, he hummed The Commodore's Easy until he heard her quiet snores over the music moments later. A smile softened his features and he pulled an afghan over them both. He brushed a few loose strands off her cheek, regarding her lovely, doll-like features. His heart skipped a beat as he thought about how his feelings for her grew. She called herself boring, and maybe that's what she thought of herself, but she was definitely not boring to him. Interesting, certainly. Intriguing, definitely.

He kissed her forehead and felt her stir slightly, a low sigh coming from her.

"I can't possibly feel dis way already," he murmured to himself. "Too soon."

"You okay, sweetheart?" she asked sleepily, eyes still closed.

"Oui, chere."

Her arms slid around his waist and he submitted to her touch. It felt good to have someone hold him close. Granted, plenty of evenings had ended this way in his past but it was usually in the aftermath of sex. This time he didn't care if there was none of that; he was content to let her hold him. In fact, this was more intimate than sex. This was…

He wasn't quite sure he was ready to admit that. Not yet. He had been burned before and the scars still hurt. But the bubble of emotion continued to swell and nag at him until sleep finally took over, bombarding him with dreams of his past.

_The screams… those shrill, horrific sounds of the innocent haunted him like wailing banshees as he ran for their lives. He held her close, feeling her racing heartbeat throb in her tiny body. She was so scared, terrified, but so was he. Tears were pouring from his eyes, stinging the back of his throat. If he could make it to the ladder they would be safe…_

"_I'm sorry," he wept. "I'm so sorry, petite…"_

O . . . O . . . O

New Orleans was beautiful. The history hovered as thick in the air as the morning fog rolling in from the Mississippi River. Antique homes, perfectly restored, rested harmlessly next to modern day architecture. Southern hospitality was openly prevalent in nearly everyone she met on the street.

"Mornin', miss!" she heard more than one person greet.

"Is everyone really this friendly?" she whispered to Remy.

Of course, the citizens of Salem Center were friendly enough, but there was also the sense of privacy within the wealthy community. In New Orleans, however, there was encompassing warmth all around.

"Dis th'South, chere. We like ev'rybody. Unless you don' like us, den we still nice t'ya but might not invite ya to th'community social nex' Saturday afternoon. And who wanna miss out on dat?! Big ole pot o' crawfish with andouille sausage, corn, oysters, and a big ole roast pig on a spit… no one would dare be an asshole an' not get the chance t'enjoy a good meal!"

She laughed and smiled when he flung his arm around her shoulder.

"Are you being serious?"

"Baby, a Cajun never jokes about food," he said with pride. "It's like lyin'. Dere's th'seriousness of th'matter. And den' y'gotta go to confession, tell Father Gustav dat you got uninvited to Miss Rosie's boucherie, an' he'll slide th'door in th'booth open jus' so he can get a good look at your face an' call you a great idiot. You think shunnin' is bad in high school? You never experience th'passive aggressive behavior o' th'Cajuns or th'Creole folk down here if you're a douchebag. It's brutal!"

"I take it, you've had experience?"

"Non, but I've seen it in th'process."

They rounded the corner on Bourbon Street and stopped before a tall building with a sign hanging next to a green awning reading "Virgil's". The neon sign was not turned on and the business hours announced that the bar didn't open until 5pm.

"Well, dis th'place," he shrugged and stepped forward to knock on the door.

"It, uh, it looks closed," Ada whispered.

"Dat's 'cause it is."

Remy leaned against the wall, whistling random notes while he stared down at his boots. The door to the bar cracked open, barely revealing the nose of the owner.

"Ey, read th'sign, homme; we closed," a rough voice answered.

"Closed even for me?"

There was a pause before the door opened slightly wider to allow the morning sun to shine on the face of the middle-aged man with an aghast expression in his eyes.

"Mon Dieu! Remy? Es-c'est vraiment vous?!"

"Hi, Virgil," Remy lowered his voice and shyly waved in greeting.

The two men hugged tightly, hearty claps on their backs mixed with the sounds of laughs.

"Look at you! My dear Lord, did you grow up! Come in, come in!" Virgil said with excitement as he rushed them inside the bar.

It was rather humble and simple for a bar owned by a master thief. A small variety of tables sat scattered along the black and white tiled floor. The long, age-worn wooden bar stretched against the back wall. Neon vendor signs hung next to crudely-framed stock photographs of New Orleans. There was a small stage in the corner housing a drum kit and an accordion resting harmlessly on a black-painted barstool.

"Café, Remy? And, uh, pardonnez moi, mademoiselle, I never got your name," Virgil smiled weakly as he headed for a coffee maker.

"Merci, Virgil. And, forgive me, where are my manners? Dis is Adaliah Gregg."

"Adaliah; dere's a name I never heard before. Tres belle! Coffee, Ms. Gregg?"

"Yes, please," she nodded and sat next to Remy at the bar.

"So, what brings you to N'Awlins, T-Boy?" Virgil asked and sat down the coffee and a plate of beignets before his guests. "Oh, dose are fresh. Jus' got dem from Miss Susanna dis mornin'."

Remy shook the excess powdered sugar off one of the pastries before taking a healthy bite. His eyes rolled back as he moaned in contentment.

"Oh, c'est si bonne! I haven't had a decent beignet since las' time I was here. But, since we on th'subject, I need t'speak with my father."

Virgil's smile dropped and was replaced by a doubtful frown.

"You haven't talked t'him? You his kid, Remy; why go t'rough a minor lackey like m'self?"

"I'm not in th' inner circle anymore; might as well consider me an outsider. I know you an' I also knew you were against my excommunication."

"Mais, o'course I was, Kid! You were th'best damn thief in th'history of this God-forsaken Guild! I unnestand Jean-Luc's reason behind tossing you out, but… I shouldn't even talk 'bout dis right now. Dis between you and your papa."

"Can you get message across dat I need t'see him? Tres importante."

Virgil leaned in closer, his dark brown eyes locked on Remy's red stare.

"You broke?" he whispered.

"Not even close," he shook his head and scowled. "Has nuthin' t'do with money. I jus' need his help locatin' sumthin'."

"Okay, den. I'll do what I can. I know he want t'see ya. Man keeps a picture o' you in his wallet. Actually, why don' you drop by t'night 'round nine. Dis prob'bly th'best place for you t'meet him."

"Much appreciated, Virgil," Remy smiled and shoved another beignet in his mouth.

After a few more minutes of casual conversation and a few more beignets, which resulted in Virgil slapping Remy's greedy hands, the couple left the bar.

"How long has it been since you seen your dad?" Ada asked.

Remy sighed and slid his glasses back over his eyes.

"Fifteen years. Las' I saw 'im was when he asked me t'leave th'Guild. I would notice 'messengers' who would check up on me in places he knew I was in, but I hadn't spoken to or seen 'im."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart," she slipped her hand into his and smiled when she felt his fingers tighten securely around her digits.

"It's okay. I understood his reasons. It hurt for a while, but I couldn't really disagree with 'im. Some bad shit happened an' I was responsible for it."

She closed her lips tightly and decided she would wait for another time to ask him to dig into his painful past. Besides, it was a lovely day and he seemed rather happy, considering he started humming Stevie Wonder's "Superstition".

"Well, I suppose we have time to kill before tonight; what should we do?" she asked.

"Dey's lots we can do, chere. Museums, restaurants, we can go mark our 'x' on Marie Laveau's grave," he suggested.

The sound of a jazz band playing up-beat music nearby made his smirk transform into a brilliant smile. He pulled her into a slow jog across the street.

"Allons, baby! Let's go dance!"

Ada's eyes widened while she attempted to keep up with him. "Uh, Remy, I don't dance."

When they reached the band, a group of five men perched on the corner of the street, the crowd was beginning to gather to listen to the music and throw their money into the instrument cases in appreciation. Four small children hopped and wiggled around, not caring if they were in rhythm or not. Remy let go of Ada's hand and joined them, revealing just how much of a big kid he was himself. The crowd clapped along and laughed in joy and amusement, a few even danced. A little girl grabbed Remy's hand and made him hold her arm up so she could twirl around.

"Dance, petite!" he cheered her on.

Ada giggled and felt her heart throb as she watched her lover dance with the children. She began to contemplate her feelings for him, diving deep into her soul. Had it only been a week since she met him? It seemed so much longer. But in that time she developed something for him and it was more than just basic fascination and lust. There was, admittedly, some kind of connection there, a strong one at that.

A quick tap on her shoulder made her look to her left. The woman next to her pointed toward Remy and nodded her head, thick black curls bouncing against her cheeks.

"Dat yo' man, shuga?" she asked.

"Yeah, he is," Ada replied and went back to watching Remy shake his hips.

"He good-lookin, an' he good wit kids. You keep hold of him. Ain't many men who'll dance with kids like that, 'specially in public."

The audience began to applaud when the song ended. Remy curtsied to his young partner before heading back over to Ada.

"You shoulda joined us, chere," he smiled and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"That's okay. I would've just looked like an idiot."

"An' I din't? 'sides, who cares, oui? I have no shame."

She glanced back over at the crowd to see the little girl who he had danced with shyly hide behind her mother and blush brightly.

"I think you just gained yourself a fan."

Remy gave the girl a wave and chuckled when she giggled in return.

"I think she already got me married off, complete with an audience of teddy bears an' dolls."

"You're a sweet guy," she complimented and kissed him.

They stayed and listened to another song before leaving. Remy thanked the band and, in appreciation of their music, threw a hundred dollar bill into the trombone case.

"Let's go eat," he grinned and pulled her close.

"But- you just ate, what, ten beignets?" Ada blinked in disbelief.

"Eleven. But dey pretty much all air an' sugar, an' I gotta high metabolism. I know dis great lil place, has th'best etouffee! So good it'll make you wanna smack someone. Hopefully, not me, dough."

"Alright. Lead the way."

O . . . O . . . O

Virgil growled in irritation when the door to his bar was, once again, knocked upon. Grumbling in French, he cracked it open and began to announce that it was closed and to come back at 5:00.

"Virgil Marceaux," a soft, feminine voice interrupted him.

His face fell open in shock and fear as he looked into the dark blue eyes of the blonde woman standing outside.

"Bella Donna!" he gasped and gripped to the Glock concealed beneath his apron.

"You can let go o' your gun, thief," she snarled. "You wouldn't have a chance at me before one o' my boys blasts your head off your ugly neck. Now, I saw Remy come in here. What he want?"

"N-nuthin'," Virgil shrugged.

"Don' chu be lyin' t'me, now. I know he up to sumthin'."

"He asked t'talk to Jean-Luc. Dat's all, Belle; I swear."

"Who was th'bitch on his arm?" she hissed, eyes narrowing.

"Dunno. I'm guessin' his girlfriend or wife."

"I'm his wife!"

"Not accordin' to th'courts," he said fearfully. "He signed dat annulment paper. I was witness."

Bella Donna stepped back as though he struck her.

"Where did he go after he left here?"

"I don't know! It ain't my job to keep tabs on Remy! L'enfer, I hadn't seen him since he was kicked out of th'Guild! I'm just as surprised as you t'see him back in N'Awlins!"

"Fine. You see him again, you don' say a fuckin' word dat I was here, comprendre?"

"Yes'm."

He watched her saunter away, fingers snapping at the unseen assassins in her employ. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heartbeat. His hands were clammy and shook violently. It was surprising enough to see LeBeau again, but to see the Assassins Guild on his front step was beyond unsettling.

"Imma sell dis piss hole an' move out west," he mumbled to himself.

*edited by barbex- Thanks so much!*


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: An Army of Skeletons in the Closet

"I cannot eat another bite," Ada groaned and grabbed her gut. "I'm going to explode."

Remy chuckled and patted his own protruding belly with pride.

"Told ya it was good, non?" he grinned.

"Fantastic! But I'm in pain," she laughed. " And I'm afraid to move I'm so full."

The owner of the small restaurant, a hole-in-the-wall little spot on the outskirts of the French Quarter named "Al's Gumbo Pot", cleared their table and smiled cheerfully as he was complimented on his fare. His ruddy cheeks seemed to glow, reminding Ada of an elf.

"First time in N'Awlins, sweetie?" Al asked her.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Well, den! Boy, y'need ta romance th'lady! Take 'er to Jackson's Square, or th'Aquarium, maybe a visit to th'botanical gardens. N'Awlins is a place fo' lovers!" He clapped Remy roughly on his back. "Dis ain't no place t'take a belle fille! Some ole dump wif a batard gras fo' a cook," he laughed merrily.

Remy shook his head and groaned lowly as he scooted himself out of the booth. He flung a few twenties onto the table then reached for Ada's hand.

"Can you walk, chere?"

"Maybe," she laughed and waved good-bye to their host who shouted "Au revoir!" back to them loudly.

They traveled to the City Park and found a comfortable place to sit down under one of the great oaks. She laid back on the soft ground and stared up at the massive tree. Thick tufts of Spanish moss hung off the long, crooked limbs like old lace on an aging debutante's arms. The cheerful song of a waterthrush resting in the oak provided the soundtrack.

"It's lovely here," she sighed in contentment.

"Yeah," Remy nodded. "Been all over th'world, saw some of th'most beautiful places, an' I still feel most comfortable here. Guess it's true 'bout home bein' where your heart is. I used t'sleep in dese trees when I was a kid. I was small enough th'police didn't see me."

"I'm still shocked about how you managed to live that way and haven't turned into a drug addict or in the prison."

"I was a smart kid, an' I figured out how t'take care o' myself early on. Never went t'a real school but I learned t'read an' write, snuck into museums t'learn about science an' art. I prob'bly ended up knowing more dan most kids did at a young age. I remember dis one time, dere was a show at th'Ogden featurin' Escher. I fell in love with th'drawings an' ended up tryin' t'duplicate what I saw. Hands drawin' hands, neverendin' staircases, birds turnin' into fish; I had big dreams o' becomin' a world famous artist, sellin' my paintings t'rich folks. But den I realized I was a terrible artist and decided to try an' find another talent," he laughed quietly. "So, what about you? Any secrets you'd like t'share?"

"I don't really have anything dark or crippling to reveal."

"Dat's okay. I'm not lookin' for dirty laundry." He scooted closer to her and ran his fingers over her knee and thigh. "You're too nice a person t'have any skeletons in your closet."

"There may be a few, but it's not like I sold a kidney to the black market or anything. When I was five I stole my cousin's favorite Barbie doll because I wanted it and she was mean. I was made to give it back."

"Oh, how incriminatin'!" he teased.

"Hey, at the time it was! I tore a tag off a neighbor's pillow, too."

"You bad, bad girl!"

"Yep," she smiled up at him, but the happy sparkle in her eyes began to fade. "My father hated me because of what I am."

"Hated? You mean you changed his mind?" his brow furrowed.

"No. He died about five years ago; he had brain cancer. My mom has always supported me, joined groups like Parents For Mutant Children, even helped me get into the Professor's school. My dad, though, he was afraid of me," she looked away from him. "When I would come home during the summer he would avoid me at all costs. I tried to talk to him, show him what I could do. He called me a 'sinful whore' and that I sold my soul to the devil. He blamed my mother for my mutation. They divorced when I was fifteen and I never spoke to him until I was 22 when I found out that he was diagnosed. Despite my dislike for him I offered to help pay for treatments but he refused. He said my presence disgusted him and that I would only make him sicker. So, I basically said 'enjoy your place in hell' and walked out of his hospital room. Three years later, my mother called me and said he died. He also wrote me a note apologizing for his cruel words and that he loved me. He asked me to forgive him," she swallowed the hard lump in her throat and sniffed away her tears.

"I still have his letter; every now and then I'll reread it. I don't know if I can forgive him. I tried looking past his mean words and accepting that what I am I can't change, but he made me hate myself for the longest time. I blamed myself for everything bad that ever happened. I still feel that way sometimes, and I wonder if there is ever a cure for the mutant-x gene would I take it."

Remy kissed her hand and pulled her head into his lap to run his fingers through her hair.

"You wouldn't, baby; an' you know why I know you wouldn't? Because you got too many good kids in dat school who look up to you as a positive influence. Dey need you to show dem it's okay t'be different an' dat dey's a reason why we're all here. You give'em hope. You are an example dat no matter what life gives ya you can still turn out okay."

"But I'm not okay. I wrestle with anxiety all the time. I'm afraid of myself. I don't have the confidence to believe that I'm okay," her voice shook as new tears filled her eyes.

"Adaliah, mon Coeur, you are a beautiful, intelligent, strong woman. It's hard not t'like you, 'cause you're so kind an' sweet. You came along on dis trip knowin' dat sumthin' might happen, an', yeah, I know you scared, but you still asked to go. Dat takes courage, an', despite what you may think, you got loads o' it. I admire you for dat," he smiled gently.

"As for your father being so terrible to you, he died in more ways dan one. He might've passed from cancer, but he lost his life when he cursed you. What he did to you is unforgivable; he crushed a child's spirit, an' dat, to me, is a sin greater dan murder. You say you surprised I didn't end up a junkie, I say th'same thing 'bout you. Everyone goes through their own brand of hell an' end up with their own scars, but it's how you heal dat's the real indication."

Ada wiped her tears away and reached up to pull him into a tight embrace.

"You could start a second job as a therapist," she joked.

"Ah, don't know 'bout dat. I'm just tellin' you th'truth. You a good woman."

"Thank you," she smiled and dropped her head to his shoulder.

"Je t'aime," he whispered against her forehead.

She pulled back and stared at him in confusion. "What?"

Remy removed the sunglasses off his face then reached for her hands. Desperation flashed in his eyes as he chuckled at himself.

"Yeah, I know, it's only been a week, an' mos' o' th'time people would think dat it's impossible t'feel this deeply so soon. But…" his voice trailed away into a hush. "Ada, I've been in love with you th'second I saw you starin' down at me from dat window. An' if you don' feel th'same it's okay. But I had t'let you know. It's been eatin' me up inside."

Ada fought her lungs to breathe in more air. Her hands trembled and a wave of tears breached her eyes. She lifted a hand to touch his lightly stubbled jaw before pulling him in closer to kiss him. The rich taste of spice drifted over tongue as he deepened the kiss.

"Mmm, baby," he purred against her throat. "You had dat garlic bread, didn' you?"

Ada cracked up and laughed loudly, falling back to the ground.

"You're so romantic, Remy."

"Ey, garlic bread is sexy. Gimme some more," he went in to kiss her again but Ada laughed harder.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close, silently admitting that she may love him as well.

O . . . O . . . O

They returned to Remy's house after telling Scott about the second meeting at Virgil's bar. The rest of the Team had left to find lunch and go do their own sight-seeing, leaving the couple with a few hours' worth of privacy.

Ada removed her shirt and shook the remaining powdered sugar off it before reaching into her luggage for a new one. She was pulled away from the bag and swung onto the bed where Remy hovered over her wearing his typical foxy grin.

"Not so fast, darlin'," he cooed. "We alone in dis big, ole house, an' I've been wantin' t'get you back in my arms all day."

He kissed her deeply, hands sliding down her sides to cup her backside.

"You mean, you wouldn't rather have a nap?" she whispered teasingly while unbuttoning his jeans. "All this muggy heat."

"Fuck dat. Got all dis time with no one t'bother us, you think I wanna take a nap?! I want you, baby."

He moaned lowly as he felt her hands slide beneath his boxer and caress him. His lips grazed over her neck, gently nipping at the delicate skin before cooling it with his tongue.

She sucked in her breath and arched her back, legs curling around his hips to draw him closer. They kissed again; quick little parries between tongues and lips, soft whispers between each one. Her bra was flung off with little care causing another wicked grin to crawl up his wet lips. He worshipped her breasts languidly, waking her body into wanting him.

She reached into the bedside stand and grabbed a condom, ripping the wrapper carefully.

"Remind me t'get more of dese t'night. Can't keep beggin' off Emma," he kissed her.

"How- how did you know she gave them to me?" she squeaked and blushed a bright red.

"She told me," he shrugged and turned her over to straddle him.

His hands smoothed up her thighs, gently kneading the soft skin as he coaxed her to take him inside. Her head dropped back and she sighed at the pleasure. Slowly, she began to move, her soft whispers changing into impassioned cries. He sat up to taste her throat, murmuring his adoration for her.

They made love, unbound by their privacy which allowed them to be a little louder than the first time. Minutes passed and positions were changed until they both climaxed. With energy temporarily spent, they relaxed in each other's arms and let the stupor of adrenaline and dopamine take over.

"You mentioned your mama," he murmured as he stroked her long hair. "You got any siblings?"

"I have a younger sister. Her name's Sheila," she revealed in a soft voice. "When we found out that I was a mutant, we thought that she might have a talent as well. But she never developed anything. She went through her youth unscathed or bullied. She was a cheerleader, class president, salutatorian, blah, blah… the perfect daughter. Our relationship was, at best, estranged. We didn't really know each other. I never disliked her or anything, but we lived in two very different worlds.

"She married young, had a couple of kids. Her son, Doug, is a mutant. He's a bit like me in the sense that he can translate language, but for him it's stronger. He can translate any language he hears or reads. I called him Cypher once which he just ate it up. He's coming to the school next year when he's thirteen. Such a smart kid, too," she smiled.

"Do you and your sister get along?"

"Somewhat. She's like most humans in that she doesn't really understand mutants too well, but she's trying. Especially with Doug. He's a good egg."

The door downstairs opened and the sound of the rest of the Team filled the silence of the large house.

"This whole damn town smells like cayenne pepper," Logan's rough baritone echoed in the foyer.

Remy rolled his eyes and hissed under his breath.

"Salaud!"

Ada smiled and lifted his chin to gaze into his eyes.

"Hey, ignore him, babe. It's not worth you getting upset, okay?" She kissed him softly before sitting up.

"Oui, je sais. C'est frustrant."

"You keep talking in French and I won't be able to leave this bed," she taunted, tracing a nail along the ace suite on his arm.

Remy grinned wickedly and pulled her back against him, his lips against her ear. He whispered seductively while caressing her body, fingers reaching her warm feminine core.

Ada gasped and bit down on her lips in an attempt to keep quiet for fear the others would hear.

"You're going to get us in trouble," she moaned.

"It's my house. I dare 'em," he purred. His tongue flicked up the side of her neck as he stroked her slowly.

Her body rose as she drew in a sharp breath. She turned her mouth toward his, tasting his lips. The feel of his erection pressing promisingly against her center made her sigh in pleasure. She reached for the bedside stand again, grabbing for one of the last two wrappers when she heard Emma's voice call for her. The sudden barrage of her friend's mental link made her freeze instantly.

_I know you're up there having sex! Just thought I'd give you a warning before I walk upstairs and see you two in all your glory. _

"Ada?" Remy whispered and kissed her shoulder.

"First thing I'm going to do when we get back to New York is unfriend the telepaths from my Facebook page."

Remy flopped back down and covered his lower half with a sheet as he watched her scramble for clothes.

"What she say?"

"You don't want to know. But we should start getting ready anyway. It's already past five."

He stared at her in adoration, lazy smile creeping up his face.

"Ey, chere," he stopped her search for shorts and smiled wider when she met his eyes. "Love you."

She blushed and shyly broke their eye contact. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Emma's sing-song voice.

"Ada, dear, we brought dinner back. There was this lovely little French bistro, and they had the most wonderful chicken salad sandwiches!"

Remy chuckled when he saw Ada's frown deepen on her sweet face.

"We finish dis later, mon Coeur," he promised with a wink.

O . . . O . . . O

The bar was alive with the sound of zydeco from the small band who had taken over the corner stage. A few customers danced a spirited "two-step" to the happy music. The smell of freshly fried fritters permeated the air. There was laughter along with the sound of beer bottles clanking and chairs scooting across the floor, giving Virgil's Bar 'n' Grille a joyful feel.

Virgil exited the kitchen and greeted Remy and the rest of the Team with a wide smile and a friendly word.

"Back 'ere, Remy; I gotcha a table set aside. Anythin' you want is on th'house, oui?"

"My father?" Remy scanned the wide room.

"He comin'. Told me he was."

"Merci," he smiled then introduced Virgil to the Team.

Virgil's dark eyes widened upon seeing Emma glide up to him, offering her hand.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur," she greeted with a coy smile.

The bar owner swallowed loudly, causing Emma to smile wider and bat her lashes.

"I ain't never seen Virgil dis smitten!" Remy whispered to Ada. "I think he met his match."

"Emma does that," she murmured back.

A couple hours passed and the Team had made themselves comfortable in the establishment. Even Logan shrugged some of his attitude and allowed himself to be cool. He had shuffled off to chat with a pretty redhead sitting at the bar, every now and then glancing back at the table.

"One of dese days Imma pick dat furry Canuck's brain an' figure out why th'hell he hate me so much," Remy took a pull from his bottle of beer.

"It takes Logan a while to trust anyone," Scott said. "When he first met me he didn't like me much either."

"I find dat hard t'believe," Remy snickered. "Good ole clean-cut boy like you, you must be th'poster child for morality an' values an' such. Prob'bly got some kind of silent war goin' on with Captain America over who's the nicer man."

"I met the Captain a couple of times, and Steve's a good guy. But don't let Logan bother you; he'll come around eventually."

Remy nodded and was about to take another drink when a warm hand dropped onto his shoulder. Instinctively, he tensed his body and readied himself to defend. The bright flash of violet shining in the large pinky ring on the hand made his muscle slack and his jaw drop. He'd know that big amethyst anywhere. Slowly, he stood up from his seat and faced the owner of the ring. Tears filled his eyes and he smiled with joy.

"Papa!" he whispered and fell into the older man's arms.

Jean-Luc LeBeau wasn't sure the words Virgil spoke to him over the phone were true, but his curiosity forced him out of his mansion and down to the small bar to find out for himself. But there he was, his adopted son sitting at a table with four other people laughing his charismatic chuckle and weaving a vast assortment of stories that bordered on tall-tales. After watching him for nearly a half-hour from the privacy of the bar's kitchen, he finally gathered the courage to meet him.

Remy had always been a "pretty boy", with his firm jaw and long brown hair- it had been much longer the last time he seen him- but to see him fully matured and well into his thirties was incredible. It also tossed him into a large vat of guilt. He should've been there to lead him down the path of adulthood. Instead, Remy was forced to find his own way. It looked as though life hadn't been too bad to him.

"Mon Dieu, son! You could be a movie star, you're so handsome! What did you do to your hair, though?" Jean-Luc laughed and ran a hand through the long bangs.

"I haven't seen you in fifteen years an' you ask 'bout my hair?!" Remy wiped his tears away.

"Lord help me, I dunno what t'say to ya. How are you?"

"I'm good. Doin' good. Won't you have a seat?" he offered by scooting out a chair at the table.

Jean-Luc sat down next to his son and began the usual line of questioning. They spent a few minutes reminiscing before he asked Remy why he needed to see him. The rest of the Team went to the bar in order to give the two some time to talk in private.

"Do you know if Marcus Ifans still possesses th' Hyacintho Clavis?"

Jean-Luc blinked in surprise before rubbing his salt and pepper beard in thought.

"Last I heard, yeah, he does. Why? It not worth a whole lot."

"We need t'find it. Someone out dere may be trying t'get hold o' it and do sumthin' bad."

"Like who? It's a little stone key, prob'bly about two thousand years old. It don' open anythin' anymore."

"You bet your life on it, Papa?"

Jean-Luc snorted in derision and shook his head.

"Remy, I don't bet my life on nuthin'! It was proved t'be a false tale. Before Ifans got his greedy paws on it someone once tried t'find out if it could open some Egyptian burial tomb. Th'problem was it wasn't of Egyptian make; it's Roman. And dey's nuthin' from the Roman Empire dat it can open. It was passed off as a lil trinket, prob'bly made by some ancient prankster out t'make a name fo' himself."

"I still need to get dat key."

"Pourquoi?"

Remy glanced back at the rest of the Team and was given an assured nod from Scott and Jean, signalling that they could all return to the table.

"Promise me you won't go 'round repeatin' what I tell you."

"Sho t'ing, son. What's goin' on?"

"These folks, dey member o' th' X-Men, an' I'm one of dem now. We're investigatin' the theft of an ole book from UNO."

"Ey, I saw dat on th' news! I also saw sumthin' 'bout it was broken into again an' dere was an explosion on a fire hydrant. Dat was you?" Jean-Luc smiled proudly.

"We never stole th'book, but we took a copy to study who might have. I had to, er, convince some guards t'let us in. Unfortunately, they called for back-up an' we needed to get out of dere. So, yeah, dat was us. Anyway, we discovered dat th'book contained evidence of th' Hyacintho Clavis an' dat it does open sumthin'. We jus' don' know what, but we need to get to it b'fore th' other guy does."

Jean-Luc studied the group again. It was apparent most of them were mutants. The other man at the table never took off the red-lensed sunglasses and the woman sitting next to him had the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He doubted they were contacts. And Remy had hardly ever lied unless it was unavoidable. His son in the X-Men? How times do change, he thought.

"Ifans is having a party on Thursday to celebrate his 40th birthday. Some big shindig in th'Bahamas on his own personal island. Th'key is said t'be locked away in his collection inside th' mansion. I can get y'all on th'list, but I can't give ya back-up. You still out of th'Guild, Remy. I'm sorry. But an invitation is th' most I can do for ya."

"How do you know this?" Emma asked skeptically.

"It my job t'know 'bout rich people an' deir 'Imma rich bastard' celebrations. And Ifans is no stranger to th'Guild. Whaddya say, son? Consider it an apology an' a gift."

Remy nodded and smiled.

"It's more dan enough, Papa. Thank you."

There was another tap on his shoulder. He stood up, thinking it was Virgil with another round of drinks, and was nearly knocked off his feet when a hard slap made contact with his left cheek. The bar automatically went silent, making the crack against his skin echo loudly.

The Team all stood from their seats; even Logan rushed back over, fists at the ready.

Remy tasted blood, spitting out red-tinged saliva onto a napkin. When he looked up at his assaulter his eyes widened in shock.

"Belle?! Wh-what you doin' here?"

The pretty blonde woman smirked angrily and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I should ask you th'same thing, husband!"

*notes- "Salaud" is French slang for "bastard!"

Edited by barbex


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Goddess…

"Husband?!" Ada gasped and recoiled, leaning against Jean.

Remy looked back at her, a worried pout crossing his face as he watched her regard Bella Donna in shock.

"I- I'm not married to her! Not anymore!" he claimed and looked back at Bella Donna.

"Fifteen years I never heard a word from you, an' now you're back!" she hissed. "You abandoned me, LeBeau! I wasn't even your bride for twenty-four hours an' you fuckin' left me!"

Ada dropped into her seat, her head spinning and her gut throbbing with nausea.

"Your goddam brother forced dat fate on me, if you remember! You think I wanted to leave you? You were my best friend and my first love!"

"You didn' even bother askin' me t'come with you!"

"Yeah, 'cause your papa would've jus' loved dat!" he shook his head and dabbed his lip again. "By th' way, good t'see you again. You lookin' well."

Bella Donna narrowed her eyes and focused on Ada.

"Who dis?" she pointed to the seated woman who had a distinctly green complexion on her face.

"My girl," Remy defended and stood between the two.

"Please, don't bring me in this," Ada pleaded weakly.

"She a freak like you?" Bella snarled.

"Ey! You gotta problem with anyone it's me! Leave 'er alone!"

Ada stood up and reached for Emma's hand, prepared to leave the bar while the argument continued.

_Get me the fuck out of here_, she sent.

Emma escorted her toward the kitchen with Virgil's help and out the back door.

Ada slipped down to the ground, her head buried behind her arms and knees. Her anxiety surged in her blood, keeping her from catching her breath.

"He told me he wasn't married," she gasped. "And that blonde Amazon is supposed to be his wife?!"

Emma sat down next to her and pulled her close, rubbing her back in an attempt to calm her friend.

"It will be alright, dear."

"He said he was married once and that she was the reason why he was kicked out of the Guild. He mentioned accidentally killing his brother-in-law. But… was he lying to me? Oh, my God… I'm the other woman!" She rocked back and forth, fists rubbing on her thighs.

"Oh, no you're not! Now you stop thinking that way, Ada!"

"I think I'm going to throw up…" she groaned and closed her eyes.

"The dumpster is a few steps to your right," Emma said gently.

Scrambling to her feet, Ada rushed to the blue dumpster, promptly emptying her stomach's contents into it. She clutched to the rusted edges until her knuckles ached.

"I like him, Em. I really like him," she coughed and slowly dropped back down. "Beneath his cocky, flirtatious attitude is an incredibly sweet guy. Sex with him is amazing and he's a good kisser. But if he's married, I can't be with him no matter what I feel."

Emma remained silent and stood close by just in case Ada needed her help.

"Why do I fall for the worst men?!" Ada grumbled. "It's like I'm a magnet for assholes or guys with loads of baggage. In college it was my Psych 101 Adjunct who was attracted to me because I was 'damaged', then it was Riff with his secret harem, and now Gambit who is still apparently married!" she sighed wearily. "What should I do?"

"I honestly don't know, darling," Emma shook her head. "But you and Gambit need to have a talk."

O . . . O . . . O

Jean-Luc narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer to get a better look at the woman.

"Dey's sumthin' not right 'bout you, Belle. You said you made peace wit' Remy bein' gone. Or were you jus' lyin'?"

Bella Donna's eyes widened for a split second, enough time for the Team to see that something was wrong.

Logan pulled a chair aside separating the space between him and the angry woman and sniffed the air. The hissing "snickt" sound of his blades snapping out of his hands made a few bar patrons shriek in fear.

"I thought you smelled familiar, Raven."

"Bella Donna's" blue eyes flashed a mottled yellow before she struck out and kicked Jean in the face. The bar erupted in chaos and the customers ran for the front door in a frightened, confused mass. Jean dropped to the floor, groaning in pain.

Scott grabbed hold of the attacking woman but was forced to the floor when she struck his groin.

Remy reached for his collapsed bo staff, opening it up to full length. He crouched low to the ground, preparing to launch himself at this stranger. Her appearance shifted before his eyes, changing into another familiar face. He snarled and cursed under his breath. It was the woman he had a one-night stand with two weeks before he left for New York.

"Well, now dis makes sense. Wondered why you were askin' so many questions 'bout me."

She smiled wickedly before running at him.

Emma and Ada rushed into the main room to see Bella Donna suddenly morph into another person. Emma's hand pushed her friend back, keeping her away from the chaos.

"Stay back, Adaliah," she warned.

She closed her eyes and allowed her telepathy to hone in on the woman attacking the Team. When she found her particular neural "channel", she sent a hard charge of psychic pain into her brain.

The woman immediately fell to the floor, screaming loudly while gripping to her skull.

"Hold her!" Jean commanded, sensing Emma's powers.

The woman shifted her appearance again for the third time, revealing her true self. Scaled blue skin shimmered in the dim lighting.

Jean-Luc took a step back and gasped in surprise.

"Whut devilry is dis?" he whispered.

Mystique continued to scream in agony while Emma strengthened the psychic link. Logan and Scott grabbed her off the floor, holding her up to Remy.

"Knock her out!" Logan shouted above her shrieking.

"Ey, now, I was taught dat it's not right t'hit a woman," he shrank back.

"Yeah?" Ada stepped between Remy and Mystique, staring into her tear-filled yellow eyes. "Well, I wasn't."

Throwing all her weight behind her fist, she launched a hard punch into Mystique's temple. The blue-skinned mutant fell unconscious; head lolling down to her chest.

The adrenaline began to fade away and Ada clutched to her hand.

"Oh, that hurt," she gasped and sank into a nearby chair.

"We need to get Mystique back to the Headquarters," Scott informed. "Emma, Ada, Remy; you keep looking for that key while we take her in for questioning."

Emma nodded and continued to keep her link with Mystique for as long as she could reach her mind. She watched Jean, Scott, and Logan exit the bar before turning to Ada who appeared to be in shock.

Slowly, the bar regained a somewhat normal composure. The jukebox was turned back on and murmurs from those remaining swept through the air.

Remy sat down next to Ada and reached for her right hand. It was beginning to swell and redden from the punch she threw.

"Chere?"

"Are you still married?" she asked openly.

Remy flinched and shook his head. "Non, baby. I had three witnesses to me signin' dat annulment, an' as far as I know so did she."

"I was informed by th' Boudreauxs dat she didn' want t'sign it but was eventually forced to. She wanted to go out lookin' for you, Remy," Jean-Luc informed.

Remy's face fell pale and he suddenly lost his breath.

"I never knew dat," he whispered.

"You wouldn't have. Belle took it hard. First she lost her brother den her husband; she was a mess for a while. Las' I heard she was engaged to th'son of th' patron to th'Assassin's Guild in Venice. Ezio Sumthin-or-another. I thought dat th'woman who was actin' like her wasn't right."

Emma, who had finally lost her link to Mystique, turned toward Remy and regarded him curiously.

"She transformed into another woman, one that you recognized. She made contact with you before?"

"Yeah," Remy nodded. "'Bout a month, maybe less, b'fore I came t' New York, I hooked up with a girl one night. She got me really drunk on Sazeracs and we slept together. But I left in th'mornin' an' never heard from her again. She kept askin' me all dese weird questions 'bout my abilities which, at first, I thought was kinda strange, but when I was t'ree sheets to th'wind I didn't pay a lot of attention to what I was sayin'. Although, I do haveta say dat I did lay down some charm on her."

"Magneto was targeting you, for some reason, and using her as bait," Emma mused. "They know we're after them." She turned to Jean-Luc. "How soon can you get us those invitations to Ifan's party?"

"Come by my place t'morrow mornin'," he answered. "Dey'll be ready an' I'll also have a couple aliases for you t'use."

"I'm going to go back to the house and make contact with the rest of the Team," she announced as she rose from her seat. She placed a hand on Ada's shoulder and smiled gently.

_If you need me, dear, I'm here._

Ada nodded and huddled into her chair, eyes locked on the tabletop. A bag of ice was placed before her, and when she looked up she saw Virgil smiling at her.

"Here ya go, belle femme. Dat'll help."

She thanked him and gingerly placed the ice over her swollen knuckles.

Virgil sat down and mentioned that Bella Donna had come into the bar earlier asking about Remy.

"I thought it was odd. She kept callin' herself his wife. Y'know, now dat I t'ink 'bout it, th'assassins with her didn' look like any o' th'guys I know of. One guy was even a funny green color. Don' know if it was my imagination or not, but he was standin' off to th'side on th'corner."

"Why would the Brotherhood be looking for you?" Ada finally spoke.

"I haven't a clue, chere. I'd never even heard of th' Brotherhood until dat mornin' when Charles said dey stole dat Josephus book."

"I've got a bad feeling that this is going to be a bigger mess than we initially thought."

She barely listened to the rest of the conversation going on around her and thought about how dangerous the mission may become. It was too late to turn back now; she got herself involved and she didn't want to be seen as a coward and retreat back to the Manor to hide in fear. As she had said before, this was her chance to prove her worth. She knew she was powerful, but it was the fear of losing control that made her guts squirm inside her belly. Still, she reasoned with herself, it was time to get rid of those fears. She was stronger than her anxiety decreed and she had to become that person.

The melted water around the ice cubes swarmed gently around her aching hand. She could feel the molecules "call" to her. Such a small amount! So easy to pull it… to most it would be nothing more than a few harmless drops, but she knew that she could force enough energy into those drops to push them into her victims as though they were bullets. Pressurized water was extremely dangerous.

She went to the restroom to "freshen" up and check her appearance. Her reflection showed a tired woman, weakened both physically and emotionally. She ran a finger down the wrinkle near her lips and snorted in derision. They may have been called "laugh lines" but they were only a reminder that she was getting older. Time, stress, and life created those lines. She had a feeling that if she survived this mission she would have a few more etched into her face.

When she returned to the table, she had made up her mind.

"Where's the closest beach?" she asked them. "I need to get to the ocean through a beach."

"Dey's a beach in Biloxi, Mississippi," Virgil offered helpfully. "'Bout an hour away."

She glanced down at her watch. "1:35" it said.

"Remy, I need the car keys," she held out her hand.

Three pairs of eyes regarded her with curiosity. Remy stood up from his seat and pulled the key from his pocket.

"Chere, I can drive ya. I know how t' get dere."

"Wouldn't you rather see it durin' th'day?" Virgil asked.

Ada hesitated on answering, but knew that they probably wouldn't judge her. After all, if they accepted Remy as a mutant, then her ability was nothing to blink at.

"No. It's better I do this at night. Virgil, thank you for your kindness, and I'm sorry I punched someone in your bar."

"No problem, cherie, no harm done," he smiled warmly.

"Remy, you don't have to go," she turned to him.

"No, it's okay, mon Coeur. 'Sides, I need t'explain myself to ya."

Remy bid his father and Virgil a good evening and followed Ada out to the black Mercedes. In the privacy of the car he reached for her and gently kissed her, ignoring the throbbing in his lip.

"I cannot apologize enough to ya, baby," he began softly. "Yes, I was married; for less dan a day. And, yes, I did love her. But dat was a long time ago. Dere will always be a lil piece o' my heart dat belongs to my Belle. But I want you t'know right now, I don' want her. I have no intentions o' goin' after her an' leavin' you. She's a stranger t'me now. We were barely adults when all dis happened.

"Whoever dis woman is, dis shape-shifter, is someone bad. I, for one, wanna know whut th'hell is goin' on, an' I'm sho you do, too. Now, whatever you want me t'do I'll do; if you want me t'leave you alone, never wanna speak t'me again, I get it. Imma good-fer-nuthin' swamp rat an' you deserve better. But I love you with everythin' I have left t'give."

Ada pulled him in tight and kissed his neck. The rich, spicy smell of his aftershave filled her nostrils and comforted her. Carefully, she placed a soft peck on his lips then sat back in her seat.

"Okay, Remy," she nodded.

Without another word, Remy started the car and began driving toward Biloxi.

O . . . O . . . O

The ocean was rolling across the sand in a gentle, rhythmic roar. The heartbeat of the Earth, calling out to her, beckoning her to join the great mass of water…

She picked up the damp sand and let it run through her hands as she watched the waves caress the shoreline over and over. It took about an hour for him to drive her to the beach and she knew that if she didn't do this at least two things would happen; she would face the rising sun and feel utter guilt and she would have wasted time and money.

"Chere?" his soft voice called to her.

Throwing down the sand, she stood up and threw off her shoes, ignoring his concerned touch. The moonlight sparkled against the constantly moving waters. She breathed in the briny scent of the sea; the smell of salt, sand, and ocean life made the blood pump harder in her body. When she reached the break, she glanced down at her toes, watching the warm foam wash the sand from her feet. She let her head drop back and sighed in pleasure.

_Goddess…_

She waded into the ocean up to her hips, ignoring the fact that her clothes were completely soaked. Her fingers played against the warmth, keeping her balanced as the gentle push of the sea moved her like a buoy. A smile crossed her face and her eyes rolled back.

_Release_…

With a push off the floor, she leapt above the waves and landed on the surface deftly on the balls of her feet. A laugh of disbelief escaped her throat as she stood calmly on the Gulf. It had been ages since she "water-walked" and she never realized just how much she missed it. The feel of the water moving beneath her, holding her up in reverence, was wonderful.

Testing her talent further, she lifted a hand and watched a column begin to form, slowly rising up to her palm. Another giggle came from her. She turned around to see Remy waiting for her. A smile curled up her lips, and she turned on her toes, running as fast as she could further away from land. Cries of joy left her mouth. When she stopped to catch her breath, she could barely see the beach. Her heart pounded in her chest and the feel of pure, unadulterated power surged in her. She lifted her arms and felt the massive pressure of a mighty wave grow behind her. Another laugh of elation bubbled from her voice. She watched the clear waters barrel over her, embracing her like an old lover seeing her again after a long time.

_Control…_

She let the water tumble over her, carrying her deep into its salty kiss. Over and over, she turned beneath the current, dancing along with the pull.

Another swipe of her hand brought the wave down and made the pressure begin to swirl around her, drawing her down to the ocean bed. Harder and harder, faster, it whirled around her, creating a tall cylinder of water with her in the center. She spun on her toes like a child pretending to be a ballerina, fingertips easing into the wall of water.

This was her purpose for living…

Remy watched the show in disbelief. The little example she gave on their first date was intriguing; the geyser she created when they were escaping the University was beyond fascinating. This, however, was like watching a god control the elements. He had seen mutants who could create ice or fire, mutants who turned their bodies into stone or metal. But to watch Ada manipulate the ocean was to witness poetry brought to life.

He sat down onto the sand, knees tucked under his chin, and let his eyes close as he listened to the ocean waves. There was so much to process from the evening, but, for some reason, he was happy. Even after Belle made an unexpected appearance, which should've had him running for the exit screaming, he wasn't worried. Maybe it was the numbing of all the serotonin from being in love (again, but this time was so much more different, he told himself) that made the jagged bits of his past easier to swallow. Maybe it was the fact that he could face those issues as a reformed man, finally in the prime of maturity, which allowed him to feel courageous.

The feeling of his backside growing cold and damp made him reopen his eyes to see that the tide was coming in and he was about to be covered by sea water. Quickly he stood up, groaning in dismay for fear that the car seat was about to be soaked and he would have some explaining to do at the rental company of why the Mercedes smelled like kelp. He pulled off his shirt and attempted to dry his jeans, only to groan again when the sand simply became an irritant by not brushing off.

"Need help, sweetheart?" Ada's soft voice interrupted his feeble battle against his wet clothes.

He looked up to see her approaching, not a single inch of her dry, and smiling like a criminal with a devious scheme up her sleeve. His breath hitched in his throat and his heart skipped a beat.

"Um, I-I'm not sure," he stuttered, staring at her with a loss for words.

He regarded her eyes and noticed that they had changed. The soft turquoise blue of her irises had a subtle luminescence making them appear to glow, and her pupils were no longer round but a strange inverted triangle, similar to a cat's elliptical-shaped eye. She looked dangerous, wicked even. And he could feel her power throbbing from her being, matching the rhythm of the waves.

She lifted her hand and held it out toward him. Slowly, the water in his clothes was wicked away as she pulled it off him, forming a neat sphere in her palm. A gentler smile graced her lips as she held the captured liquid out for him to see.

"Better?" she asked.

Remy nodded dumbly, running his fingertips over his jeans as a test to make sure what he saw wasn't trickery. The fabric was perfectly dry.

"I can't believe- jus' how powerful are you, chere?"

Ada rolled the small ball of water over her hands, letting it dance and bounce over her fingers and arms like a toy.

"If it's water and liquid-based, I can control it, no matter how small or large the amount. Bigger bodies take more concentration and it's harder to let go of the pull."

"Every kind of water-based liquid, such as blood?" he asked with trepidation.

She glanced up at him with her strange eyes, sharp pupils dilating in and out against the slowly rising sun.

"I suppose so. I've never tried to pull blood out of another living being, but I guess it's possible."

"What does it feel like?" his voice fell over her in breathy whisper.

"It's the biggest adrenaline rush you could ever feel. To know that you can make this tremendous force of nature do anything you want is like giving a flea power over a dog. It feels so fucking good when you're in the zone; your blood pumping and your body just alive and you can feel every single nerve ending sparking with electricity. It's the most incredible thing. But, when it's over," she clenched her fist and let the sphere break and splash down to the sand, "it's gone, and you're empty again.

"There is a sense of responsibility I must force myself to feel or else I would get carried away," her voice dropped to a sad tone. "All mutants who control elements are this way. Ask Storm or Magma what it's like and they'll tell you the same thing. It's more than just a psychic link. We 'become' what we control. I am the waters. I am the waves, the whirlpools, the cascades. You hear stories about the old gods and how they can bend and move the earth like a piece of clay; we are the Titans. We are the ones mortals fear and beg to be spared, casting down our bolts of lightning, calling upon the seas to drown ships, cracking the earth open to swallow cities whole. The gods were never immortal spirits who wanted to be worshipped; they were mutants and they were scared. Just like us."

She waved her hands over her body and pulled the water out of her clothes and hair before walking back over to her shoes.

Remy took one last glance at the ocean mirroring the faint red glow of the rising sun, then followed Ada back to the car. He was beginning to feel his fatigue and still had to drive back to New Orleans. Her words haunted him, bounced off the walls of his skull. It was a frightening thought, to know you had immeasurable power; he had that as well with his energy charging abilities, but this was different. This was just as she had said.

"We are the Titans."

He wondered just how much of what she said was true.

*edited by barbex- who is awesome and wonderful in her own right!*


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Emotional Roller Coasters Can Be a Bitch

The door opened to reveal a tall, raven-haired woman garbed in a feathered robe. Her hair was perfectly styled and expertly-applied make-up hid her true age. A wry grin pulled on her red lips as she examined the three strangers on the step.

"Mmm, there are pretty people here," she purred in a rich Russian accent. "Hello, pretty people!"

"Bonjour, Madame," Remy greeted and smiled his charming grin. "I'm here t' see Jean-Luc."

"Who eez it wants to see Jean-Luc?" she placed a manicured hand on her thin hip, causing the robe to open just enough to expose the black lace lingerie beneath.

"I'm his son Remy, and dese are my, er, business acquaintances."

The Russian took another long look at the women and smiled again.

"Beautiful, this one eez," she pointed to Emma. "Knows she's beautiful. And this one eez like Greek goddess with those hips and breasts!"

A wide, conniving grin pulled back her lips, revealing slightly yellowed and surprisingly sharp-looking teeth.

"Oh, my God…" Ada groaned and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You are the son he sent away, da? Long time ago."

"Oui, I am," he replied with open chagrin.

She looked him up and down one last time before stepping aside and inviting them into the large mansion.

"Come een. Jean-Luc eez expecting you," she led them through the wide foyer down into a long, dark hallway. "You need anything, you let me know. Call me Oksana."

"Are you his…" Remy ended his question abruptly for fear of offending her.

"Not his wife."

A set of double-doors opened to a large study where Jean-Luc sat at an ornately designed desk covered with office ledgers. He glanced up from his reading and removed his glasses as he stood.

"Mornin'!" he greeted cheerfully and met Remy with a tight hug. "You're jus' in time. Gotcha everythin' you need t'get ya'll into Ifan's 'I'm a rich bastard' party."

He handed a small bundle of envelopes to him.

Remy's eyes narrowed in suspicion when he noticed that one envelope was addressed to his father.

"Qu'est que c'est?" he asked.

"I found out dat you was stayin' in Ole Man Paulson's estate. Figured I'd make it legal for ya. An' consider it a present fo' all dose belated birthdays I missed," Jean-Luc shrugged. "You gonna be livin' an honest life, dis is a good place t'start."

"I- I don' know what to say…" Remy whispered and stared at the house deed with his name written as the owner. "How did you even know I was dere?"

"Remy, I knew you were back in N'Awlins for a while; I wanted t'see if you'd come lookin' fo' me. An' a few o' my guys were snoopin' 'round, saw you goin' in an' out of dat house a couple times. I knew you were friends wit' Paulson. Ya were b'fore you were asked t'leave the Guild. I've had dat deed fo' a few years now, b'fore you even came back. Guess I bought dat house in hopes I'd see ya again."

Tears filled Remy's eyes and he embraced his father.

"You betta git goin', son. Dey's my private jet waitin' for ya at th'airport. An' I took th'liberty o' reservin' a couple rooms for ya at Atlantis," Jean-Luc smiled.

"Thank you. For everything," Remy murmured and headed for the door.

"Ey, Ada, right?" Jean-Luc interrupted.

Ada turned around and regarded the tall man with curiosity.

"Yes, sir?"

"May I have a few words witchu?"

She waved the other two off and stepped closer to Remy's father, suddenly afraid of what he might say. The heavy doors close before Jean-Luc spoke to her.

"He loves you, y'know. A man don't look at a woman th'way he look at you an' not feel sumthin'. You love 'im back?"

She paused for a moment, reflecting on her own thoughts before answering. "Yes, sir."

Jean-Luc grunted and nodded to himself.

"You take care o' him, now. He might be strong an' fast as shit, but he also fragile. His heart breaks easily. He needs someone t'protect him from time t'time. I t'ink you could be dat knight in shinin' armor who will rescue him. You be his rock, chere."

Ada smiled weakly and nodded again.

"I'll try," she promised.

"Dey's a good woman. Thanks fo' lettin' me talk t'ya."

O . . . O . . . O

It couldn't have been a more perfect plane ride. In less than two hours the three were in Nassau, meeting up with a chauffeur Jean-Luc had arranged to pick them up and take them to the Atlantis resort. In fact, things went so well that Remy constantly looked over his shoulders waiting for something bad to happen.

"Paranoid much?" Emma smirked as she dusted a small dab of powder on her nose.

"When you live th' kinda life I have y'make sho dat y'keep both eyes open and lookin' in diff'rent directions," he grumbled in the back of the limousine.

"For fear that someone with bigger guns just may want to take back what you took from them in the first place?" the blonde continued to tease.

"Lemme 'splain you a thing, Queenie; I do my damnedest to be one step ahead o' ev'ryone. Dat includes my targets, th' cops, th' hired thugs with those big ass grenade launchers, and yeah, I've had t'dodge a few o' dose in my past. So forgive me if I seem a lil wary o' our surroundin's. I got trust issues."

Shrugging off his cranky tirade, Emma went back to checking her tablet for any details she could gather about Marcus Ifans' party.

"We'll need to purchase appropriate clothing for the event. Thankfully, there are a slew of fine boutiques we can choose from within the resort complex itself."

"Great," Ada sighed and dropped her chin into her palm while she watched the Caribbean city fly by her eyes. "Just what I need; a bunch of uppity skinny bitches looking at my fat ass like I'm some side show freak."

"Oh, Ada, don't be ridiculous! Money talks, and if they want it the staff will play nice. Besides, you're not fat. You're voluptuous and sultry."

"Those are just nice ways of saying 'she's chubby and looks like she needs a nap'."

Emma snapped her powder case shut loudly and regarded them both in open curiosity.

"What is wrong with you two? Remy, you're usually cracking a joke or ten and, Ada, you're normally somewhat upbeat. You're both so dreadfully dower!"

"I need a shower and sleep," she mumbled.

_What happened last night?_ The telepath sent to her. _I know you did something because your energy is pulsing madly right now!_

Images of the wave she created in the Gulf of Mexico flashed in her mind causing Emma to audibly gasp.

"You did it; without help from me or Jean?"

"I needed to," Ada whispered and stared down at the vibrant blue waters outside her window.

"Are you alright?"

Her hand pressed tightly to the glass and her lips parted as she felt the attraction of the ocean directly beneath the arching bridge leading from Nassau onto Paradise Island.

_Need…_

"I'm fine," she answered quietly.

Emma glanced warily at her, not fully believing her friend but decided to keep her mouth shut.

Once settled in her room, Ada dropped down onto the bed and let her exhaustion show on her paled features. She clutched a long thatch of her hair, fingers lazily combing through the slightly tangled mass.

"Baby, you want me t'leave you alone?" Remy asked.

She blinked slowly and shook her head.

"I think I just need a little bit of sleep. It feels like every muscle in my body is on fire."

"Hows about I order us some room service, lil bit of food, sumthin' t'drink, an' you can take yourself a nice, long bath while I watch you grow a mermaid tail like dat chick in Splash," he grinned.

Ada allowed herself to smile, albeit a weak one, but it still made him happy to see it.

"Sure," she croaked and pulled a pillow over her head. She felt her hand being lifted then the warmth of his lips on her knuckles where he gave her a kiss before walking away. Before she knew it she had fallen into a deep sleep.

O . . . O . . . O

Remy sat on the bed, Ada close by his side, and munched on cold French fries while he watched old Star Trek TNG reruns. Lieutenant Barkley had locked himself in the Holodeck and took control over the Enterprise while under the influence of alien intelligence. It was one of his favorite episodes.

He couldn't help but wonder if the feeling of not being in control of one's actions was how Ada felt when it came to her manipulation talent. Lying in the tight little ball next to him with her fingers curled around her golden brown hair, she looked so delicate and demure. She didn't look capable of harnessing the power of the ocean or creating whirlpools that could swallow ships into the abyss. But he had witnessed those titanic waves with his own eyes and saw how she had transformed from shy and meek into a sea goddess and it had him thinking about what else she was capable of. Were there other secrets she hadn't revealed yet?

"Wh-what time is it?" her sleep-strained voice croaked.

He smiled and glanced down at her lovingly.

"Almost 8:00, chere. You been sleepin' for 'bout six hours now. I didn't wanna bother ya."

She yawned widely and sat up, rubbing her eyes open before dropping her head down to his knee.

"Here we are, in this tropical paradise where we should be walking hand in hand on the beach and staring into each other's eyes like a couple of sad romantics. Instead we're in our hotel room where I sleep the day away and you are forced to watch syndicated sci-fi."

"You don't hear me complainin', non? It's all good, baby." He patted her shoulder and offered her a fry which she took without question.

"Did some research while you snoozed. Ifans is a bachelor, likes intelligent women an' also likes t'show off his collection as a way to woo 'em."

"You want Emma to get him to show her his gallery, don't you?" she asked and reached for another fry.

"If she can. I need t' know what I'll be dealin' with an' if she can get me dat information it'll make things much easier and quicker. Plus it'll get us out of dere an' back to th' Manor before shit go too crazy."

"You think you can get the Key without triggering alarms?"

Remy smiled his crooked smirk and chuckled lowly.

"My arrogance aside, I'm one o' th'best thieves in th' history of the Guild. Once I stole th' Mona Lisa from th' Louvre jus' t'see if I could. I put it back th'next day, but I did it without trippin' any alarms or alertin' th' guards. An' when I put it back it was th'same thing. No alarms, no tasers shockin'. I'm very good at what I do an' I'm not ashamed t' admit dat."

"I remember that! It was on the news and the museum thought it was some kind of inside joke because the painting came back."

She sat up and regarded him with disbelief. "That was you?!"

He shrugged and smiled proudly. "Y'know, th' frame dey put 'round dat thing is ridiculously gaudy an' heavy. Never would've matched the décor in my apartment."

Ada laughed and shook her head. "Anything else you took that gave the world an anxiety attack?"

"Nothin' dat had th' prestige of th' Mona Lisa. I wanted t' steal the New York Stock Exchange bell, but, well, other things happened an' I never got t'live dat dream," his voice dropped.

"Why would you want to do that?" she asked.

"Jus' t'see what would happen. Not like it's worth much, but I wanted t' experience th' chaos dat would follow. Not to mention I'd end up being a super rich sumbitch by th' end of th' day from all the electronic pick-pocketin' I could arrange."

"You have a strange sense of humor, sweetheart."

"Maybe," he smiled and ran a hand through her hair.

"If you actually did pull that off and became the super rich son of a bitch as you say you would, wouldn't that make you your own enemy?" she challenged.

"Never said I'd keep it all. A large percentage would go t' charities, hospitals, foster care homes, among other areas o' interest."

Ada laughed and tugged playfully on the edge of his hair. "Other areas of interest being your band of Merry Men?"

"Or th' fair lady who has captured my heart."

"You either have a heart of gold or you're the biggest attention hound I've ever met."

"Well, I do like bein' th' center o' attention," he teased and leaned back to watch her slide off the bed. "Go on an' get your bath, chere.

With a smile and a blush on her cheeks, she slowly walked into the bathroom and proceeded to soak in the large tub while Remy watched another episode of Star Trek.

O . . . O . . . O

"I have everything arranged," Emma mentioned over breakfast in Remy and Ada's room. "Ada and I will go shopping for appropriate cocktail-length gowns, shoes, jewelry, and other necessities. I'm assuming that you will go looking for a tuxedo for the party, correct? White jacket, black tie and trousers. Oh, and no cummerbund, please. Vests are much more en vogue."

Remy passed her a crooked smirk as he cut into his plate of waffles.

"Oui, mama," he retorted.

"Well, forgive me for mentioning it, Remy, but I wouldn't know if you had that knowledge or not."

"Y'know, I may sound funny t'you an' maybe look like it take 'bout five minutes t' figure out what to wear, but I do unnestand formal attire," he said defensively. "I have attended a party or two in my day."

"I see," she droned apologetically then turned back to Ada. "Tomorrow morning, before we take the charter boat to the private island, we'll go to the salon and have our hair styled and any other regimes that we can fit into the time slot."

"Regimes as in enough make-up on our faces to make cosmetic companies stocks go through the roof?" Ada joked.

"Possibly," Emma shrugged. "Also, I took the liberty of ordering you a set of contacts to hide your eye color, Remy. Just don't look at people too long. The white sclera can't cover everything, meaning you'll still be showing a small ring of black."

"Yay," he groaned.

"Now, we need to get our aliases' identities in order. According to the passport your father gave me, I am Ms. Ophelia Van Buren. The dossier says I am heiress to a fine jewelry house. Should be easy enough to project. You two are Mr. and Dr. Robert and Iris Lord, entrepreneurs from New Hampshire who have a shared interest in medical advancements. I am surprised Jean-Luc didn't make you the doctor, Remy."

"I know why," he shrugged. "'Cause th' Ole Man know I'm a couyon an' makin' me a doctor would blow our cover."

"You're not an idiot," Ada frowned at him.

"Chere, Gambit knows how t'trick people into makin' dem believe I'm smart and how t'charm some ole lady outta her jewelry with a few compliments. But if someone at dis party tries t'strike up a conversation with me 'bout th' differences between EKG and EEG, well, you can kiss our convincin' stories goodbye."

"Then he has a lot of blind faith in giving me the professional title."

"Non, not really. You th'brains, I'm the beauty," he grinned. "Eye candy fo' all dose middle-aged women who are gonna give you hateful stares while dey greet you with half-hearted 'hellos', den start talkin' 'bout you behind your back. 'Oh, look at her! Arrogant bitch, how'd she snag him?!'" he mocked in falsetto.

"Funny."

"Yeah. Guess I missed my true callin' o' becomin' a stand-up comedian."

"All joking aside, you should probably start brushing up on your medical terminology just in case someone does start asking questions," Emma suggested. "And you certainly need a back story if Ifans starts talking to you, which you know he will. But I will do my best to get him alone."

"How do I put this on my resume?" Ada grumbled. "Masters in Library Sciences, teacher for a private league school, specializes in careers she knows nothing about, and possible accessory to crime."

"Dey's no crime if we don't get caught, chere," Remy grinned and kissed her cheek.

"He has a point," Emma nodded.

O . . . O . . . O

He had some time to kill before he went out looking for a suit. He knew that it would take the girls some time to search for the perfect outfit, and it would certainly take Emma the better part of the day to do so. Ada, he had a feeling, was the type to grab anything off the rack and hope for the best. He also felt the need to spend some energy and decided to go to the resort gym. There were only a handful of people in the expansive room which he was slightly grateful for. Though he liked being around others, it was at times a distraction when he wanted to concentrate.

He grabbed a treadmill, threw in his earbuds, and turned on a playlist containing hard rock songs and 70's funk. The sweat began to pour as he ran up the programmed incline when his thoughts traveled to all the women in his past. Bella Donna he missed in a way, still loved, and somewhat regretted. He didn't think he'd ever see her again, not counting the imposter who took on her image the other evening.

Then there was the pretty raven-haired woman he met in Arizona when he started his "solo" career. She was sweet, frisky, but wasn't what he could call "smart". Bella Donna was smart, though. She knew everything. After the short-lived affair in Arizona was the politician's daughter in Tokyo. If it wasn't for the fact that she broke it off with him, he probably would've stuck around. He liked her.

He then scanned his brain for the myriad of nameless faces he liked, was captivated by, or used to ease bouts of boredom, until he settled on his most recent relationship. Perhaps it was because he was realizing he was getting older, or it could've been due to the fact that he was tired of quick solutions to ease his hormonal issues but he latched on to Ada like a lamprey to a shark. He doubted that it was desperation. Some of it could've been loneliness. All he knew was when he thought of her his heart throbbed and his stomach trembled with butterflies. His blood pumped like lava, and when he kissed her it was more than just a little show of affection. His whole body and soul went into each embrace.

Oh, yeah, he loved her, no doubt about that! But he had been in love several times before and each relationship ended in some kind of tragedy. Divorce, ugly break-ups, lamps being thrown at him, and open affirmations from those women in his past of how much they ended up hating him. How could he make this relationship, so new and already so openly emotional, work?

He knew he was a sucker for a pretty face. Most of the men he knew were. And, if they were honest about it, so were the women he had known, on both a physical and platonic level. He thought about Emma Frost. She was gorgeous! And she was openly sexual. Why didn't he fall for her? 'Ro was as beautiful as much as she was extremely confident. He viewed her as a friend.

But Ada? Petite, curvy, doll-faced, looked a little like a Christmas elf when she blushed… she was perhaps labeled as "cute". Pretty, of course, but not "beautiful" like Emma or Ororo or Jean Grey…

Her smile, though, was infectious. Her laughter was soul-penetrating and joyful. The expression she wore during their moments of love-making was arousing. She had surpassed physical beauty, the more he thought about her. She was his angel, his heart; and she had been from the moment she shook his hand in the mansion kitchen that very first night.

Yes, he thought, this was different. This wasn't a "puppy love" kind of feeling. It hurt as much as it healed. He wanted to protect her, put himself in the line of fire, the old-school chivalry type of love. He already started to weave far-fetched fantasies about reciting vows in a church while she wore a snow-white gown, rubbing her feet while she massaged a very round, pregnant belly, chasing a couple of red (or blue) eyed kids in the front yard of his plantation home as she stood on the balcony and laughed…

Get a'hold o' yerself, Gambit, he heard his inner voice scold. You beginnin' t'weave some pretty tall tales in that grey mush you call a brain.

"Hey!" his thoughts were interrupted when he felt someone tap on his shoulder while they shouted.

He stopped running and shut off his mp3 player to regard the woman standing next to the treadmill. A coy smile was pulling on her lips. She was also in good shape, he noticed. Long, shapely legs, trim waist, nice backside…

"Yes'm?" he asked politely, attempting to keep his sight above her chest line.

"Look, this is going to sound crazy. I mean, you don't know me, obviously," she giggled nervously. "But, I've never talked to a mutant before and I wanted to know if you'd like to go get a drink later."

"What makes you think I'm a mutant?" he grinned and batted his lashes over his eyes.

"It's kind of obvious. No offense."

"None taken."

"So, what do you say?" she flirted and placed a warm hand on his arm.

Remy smiled and chuckled to himself. Of course, he was flattered. It was nice to be noticed, and he knew he caught a good dose of attention. In the past, the recent past, he would've pounced at the opportunity to spend time with such an attractive woman. He also knew that it would've taken barely any effort to get her into his bed.

But as he looked at her he realized there was nothing she could offer him that struck his fancy. His body didn't jump at the thought of fucking her; his mind didn't spin with possible scenarios.

"Dat's a mighty kind offer, miss," he began gently, "but I can't accept."

Her grin faded into a mask of disappointment.

"Um, wh-why not?" she asked and dropped a hand down to her left hip which jutted out sharply.

A sparkle shimmered in the Cajun's fiery eyes as he stepped off the treadmill. Once more he thought about the woman he recently fell for and additional silly daydreams swam in his mind. The words he spoke surprised him; not because he actually said them but the fact that hearing them gave him a feeling of contentment and happiness.

"I'm married."

The woman stared at him in shock and snorted as she stepped back, obviously insulted.

Remy grabbed his waterbottle and his towel before leaving the treadmill.

"You have a nice day, now!" he waved and exited the gym.

He walked back up to his room, prepared to take a shower to rid himself of the sweat when he was stopped in his tracks by Ada digging through her duffel bag of scant possessions. She sat up on her heels and offered the light smile of one caught in an inconvenient position.

"I forgot my wallet," she shrugged. "Emma wanted to go get a mojito with lunch."

Remy rushed to her, lifted her off the floor, and kissed her deeply, throwing her off balance. His hands cupped her jaw, making the hard, passionate embrace more meaningful. She sighed a soft note as she felt his tongue pass over hers. The wallet fell from her hands, dropping most of the contents out of the zipped compartment. Loose change jingled onto the carpet.

"What was that for?" she asked when he stopped.

He regarded her, desperate to find the right words for the moment. His lips opened, closed, then opened again as he smiled. He didn't dare tell her that he spent the last couple of hours in the gym daydreaming about making her his wife. God forbid she add "he's crazy" to the list of "reasons why we broke up", if it ever came to that.

"Jus' wanted to, chere."

*edited by barbex! Wow!*


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Une Petite Soiree

"I'm afraid to breathe on this," Ada muttered sullenly as she stared at the garment bag with the tell-tale Medusa head logo in gold flashing back at her. Beneath the confines of the white plastic was a dress she never would have, in her right mind, paid thousands of dollars for, but thanks to some encouragement from Emma, and the convenience of a credit card which apparently had a ridiculously high limit, she walked out of the boutique with a garment she regarded as something only Hollywood actresses or uber-rich socialites could wear.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, my dear!" Emma tutted. "You are going to turn every single head, maybe break a few necks, when you walk into that gathering."

She pulled Ada's shirt off, causing the shorter woman to recoil in modesty and cross her arms over her chest.

"You could've asked first!" Ada shot her friend a scowl.

"My apologies. And you're going to have to remove the bra."

"Why?"

"Because Donatella designed that fabulous frock to be worn sans brassiere. And, don't worry, there's a built-in corset. You'll be fine."

Sighing quietly, Ada shyly unhooked the garment, all while keeping at least one hand over her chest to conceal her nudity.

"Oh, my God, Adaliah! Why on Earth are you so bloody shy?! We're both women; we have the same parts!" Emma rolled her eyes.

"Just in different proportions, and I'd like to keep those secret, if you don't mind."

Shaking her head, Emma approached the garment bag and revealed the cocktail-length dress. Rows upon rows of pale blue beads covered the draped skirt and top. The art deco-inspired bodice curved in toward the apex of the front, enhanced by small mirrors attached in neat mosaics along the straps and collar. It was a beautiful sheer, silvery aqua color, reminiscent of shallow tropical waters.

"I still can't get over how lovely this dress is," Emma breathed as she carefully took it off the hanger. "Don't you dare spill anything on it!"

"Oh, don't you worry. I'll be too nervous to attempt to eat."

"No, don't do that. Just, uh, eat something that's not liquid or loose. Stay away from chocolate and cheese fondues."

Emma slid the dress over Ada's head and made sure everything was laying perfectly. She stepped back to stare in awe at the petite woman, smiling in wonder as how beautiful she looked.

"Do I look okay?" Ada asked with concern.

The tall blonde clasped her hands over her heart and smiled widely.

"Adaliah, you are a Goddess."

O . . . O . . . O

Charter boat, they called it. She was expecting a plain, pontoon-like boat with a floppy, frayed awning held up, feebly, by a couple of bent aluminum poles, and a shoddy motor chugging along stubbornly through the waters captained by a grizzled old man who looked like he had seen some shit.

It was a yacht.

And the captain was a dashing man who looked to be of Mediterranean decent, dressed in a fine jacket of rich navy blue and crisply pressed white linen slacks.

Ada wanted to relax and allow herself the opportunity to enjoy feeling "fancy", but the fact that they were about to organize a heist was keeping her from experiencing that luxury. She leaned over the railing and watched the crystalline waters gently lap at the boat's pristinely clean hull. In the background she could hear Emma's silver-bell laugher ring over the low hum of the engine. Leave it to The White Queen to attract a crowd, she thought.

The sun caught a facet on the edge of the ring she wore on her left hand, causing her to involuntarily look down at the large diamond resting not so subtly on the white gold band. It was almost too big for her petite hands and could probably do some damage if she dared to use it in a melee fight. Who needed brass knuckles when you had a nearly two-carat-sized rock sparkling in the light just before it made contact?

"It's only for today," she muttered to herself as she moved her hand to watch the diamond sparkle its brilliant rainbow fire. There was the slightest pang of sadness as she focused on the reality of the situation.

It was simply there as a part of her alias' costume; not hers. In a way, she almost wished that she was Dr. Iris Lord, happily married to the staggeringly handsome man who was standing less than ten feet from her looking like he was waiting for a photographer to capture him unaware. She nearly laughed out loud when she watched him tilt his chin up just a little higher and square his shoulders. He really was a ham!

Her sight traveled down to gaze upon his left hand and the plain platinum band encircling his ring finger. She sighed and smiled weakly.

_We're not married_, she repeated mentally. _It's a cover and I'm just a librarian in a school. When this is over I'll be plain old Ada Gregg. Cinderella must've felt like this, constantly watching the clock and wishing that the laws of physics suddenly stopped working so that time could stand still._

Remy caught her staring at him and flashed his cocky, crooked grin as he approached. He breathed out a soft, musical note before wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck.

"Oh, Buffy, the Caribbean is sooo cliche'," he crooned in an uppity accent. "We should've just gone to Monaco."

She chuckled and rested her head back against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne.

"Buffy? Does that mean when we return to our Chateau in the Hamptons I get to kill vampires and demons between all the high-class, stuffy parties?"

"Mmm, can I watch?" he purred. "Turns me on, t'see a woman kickin' ass."

"Typical man," she teased and stared back out at the ocean. Her blood began to warm and her nerves itched. She suddenly regretted pulling that wave in Mississippi. The attraction to the water was now harder to ignore and constantly nagging in her brain.

"Maybe, mais, I think you like dis 'typical man', non?" he nibbled at her ear.

"Just a little," she smiled.

The yacht's horn interrupted the romance, causing Ada to jump in surprise and Remy to laugh at her reaction.

"We're nearly at th' island," he informed. "'Bout five minutes from dockin'."

"I'm scared to death I'm going to say something that will screw things up," she breathed in deeply.

"You'll be fine, chere," he turned her around gently as he spoke. "You look incredible; and, unless whoever is talkin' t' ya is blind, no one will be remotely interested in what you say."

"Gee. That makes me feel so much better," she retorted in a blunt tone.

"Ey, baby, you know what I mean. Dese parties, no one gives two an' a half fucks of what career someone has. Jus' dat dey have money and if dey attractive. 'Are you rich?' Yes. 'Are you pretty?' Yes. An' den, no problem! Plus we have an Emma."

Ada breathed out heavily again and gripped tightly to the small, rhinestone-incrusted seashell clutch Emma told her she would need. It contained a lipstick, a mint candy, and her phone. The candy barely fit.

Remy held out his elbow as a chivalrous offering to help her down the boat's ramp.

"Come along, darling. We don't dare miss the first round of champagne. Otherwise it goes flat and we simply can't abide by flat champagne!" he tried out his pretentious accent once again.

"And the Academy Award goes to…"

O . . . O . . . O

Marcus Ifans was the CEO of CyberWare, a world-wide company that developed robot technology and was making large waves in the news by moving on from the typical, "brainless" robots into artificial intelligence. There was even some speculation that CyberWare was secretly behind the development of the Sentinel program but Ifans vehemently denied the claims.

He stood at the back of the crowd in his expansive garden, sipping his glass of Bollinger and checking the time on his Omega. Ten years ago he would've dreamed of owning such an expensive watch and now he had ten. Born to a poor seamstress in Cardiff, Ifans' intentions of being the "everyman" even while building himself an empire was lost as his fortune grew. His pride was bigger than his wallet, and most of his employees saw him in one of two ways; he was a juggernaut who couldn't be stopped in the business world or he was a histrionic asshole who openly stepped on the "little guy" to get what he wanted.

Both were true.

He was also a perpetual bachelor who liked beautiful women who knew how to appreciate fine things. His three marriages, all wealthy socialites, never lasted more than five years- his last marriage to the daughter of the king of Liechtenstein lasted a scant six months. But he was able to dodge the dreaded alimony situation by enforcing grid-locked prenuptial agreements. These made him hold on to his fortune and also made his lawyer one of the richest divorce attorneys in the world.

He did his "good deeds" by giving to charities, seeing them as opportunities to get his face on the front of newspapers, but he only chose those organizations based on publicity. If they were to benefit from his generosity, then he would benefit by company stocks going up.

He was the perfect target for a professional thief.

And Remy considered these factors as he glanced over at the "head honcho", his disguised eyes narrowing in thought. He blinked repeatedly as he tried to ignore the discomfort of the scleral contact lenses, finding not just the feeling odd but when he looked at his reflection after putting them in he realized it was strange having brown eyes. From a distance, he looked human, but up close it was evident that there was something, well, off about him. He made the decision to leave his sunglasses on as long as he could.

"We need t'work our way over t' him," he coached quietly.

Emma and Ada were hanging on his arms as they walked through the party crowd. Ada smiled politely to those they came across while Emma, being the natural social butterfly of the small team, flirted openly, laughed loudly at poor attempts of jokes, and did most of the talking. So far, that particular strategy worked.

Until…

"Dr. Iris Lord, is it?" a male voice, accented with thick Texan drawl, interrupted.

Ada looked up to see a tall man standing before them, blocking their path to Ifans.

"I am," she took his offered hand and shook it.

"Dr. Leonard McDougal, CEO of CryoVie. Mah comp'ny specializes in cryogenic sciences. Ah heard tell in a few interestin' conversations over yonder that you have a soft spot for medical advances. Wondered if Ah could have a few words with ya."

Ada's guts dropped in fear as she painted on a polite smile. She instinctively dug her nails into Remy's forearm, making him flinch.

"Typically, I don't talk business during my off time, Dr. McDougal," she smiled sweetly. "I can put you in contact with my assistant-"

"You consider yo'self a bidness woman, correct?" McDougal smiled back. "This here is an opportunity you cain't afford t'miss out on. Now, if you're smart like Ah think you are, you'll listen t'mah lil spiel, here!"

She looked over at Remy who gave her a short nod. His shaded eyes were locked on McDougal as though he was trying to peer through his head into his brain.

"You have five minutes to tell me your story," she said in a faintly clipped tone.

"After five minutes you'll be convinced that mah comp'ny is worth investin'. CryoVie is the premier establishment workin' into th' possibility of cryogenics prolonging human life. We've developed several tests on procured candidates and have found that, if further developed, the human brain can, in fact, be preserved and even placed into the body of a willin' host or, with possibilities in the near future, into a cloned replicate of the brain's original owner. Now, if that ain't revolutionary, I don't know whut is!" He towered over her with pride.

"And just who are these volunteered candidates?" she asked.

"Well, most are folks who have donated their bodies to science. We pay university laboratories for the remains and our staff of cryogenicists perform a variety of plausible tests t'see if the bodies, and even the brains, are workable. We're very close to actually reanimatin' an expired human back to life."

Ada frowned and shook her head.

"You don't think that those good people who have donated their remains wish them to be used for more dire studies, such as cancers, terminal illnesses, and the like?"

"With cryogenics illness will be a thang of the past. Bodies will be expendable materials while the brain is preserved. Humans could possibly live for thousands of years."

"Dr. McDougal," Ada stepped closer to him, her face blank but her eyes glowing with anger, "you, sir, are nothing more than a modern day Frankenstein, and, quite frankly, I fear for you. Nothing is meant to live forever, especially humans. Fighting to stay alive until the inevitable end is one thing, but to abuse nature for your own self-gains, it terrifies me. I wouldn't invest one fucking cent into your company. And I would urge any of my colleagues to never give you a second glance. Now, if you will excuse me, I do believe I am here on vacation. I mean to have a good time."

The three walked away from McDougal who stared at them in speechless shock. Ada shook her head and sighed. Remy grinned from ear to ear.

"Cho! Co! Chere, you a badass!"

"Disgusting! What a sick, perverted fiend! The sad thing is, I'll bet a majority of the idiots here would be interested in reanimation just so they can live forever. How vain!"

"Well, I suppose if ya like livin'," he shrugged.

"Don't tell me that you would fall for that!" she glared at him.

"Who, me? Naw, I'm lookin' forward t'bein' a dirty ole man," he teased. "Joie de vivre, non?"

"Opportunity knocks," Emma patted his shoulder. "I'm going to go talk to Ifans while I have the chance."

"If you can get into his gallery, let us know somehow," Ada suggested.

"Of course."

They watched Emma saunter toward the host of the party. Ada gripped anxiously to her clutch and stiffened her back.

"God, I hope she can convince him to give her a tour," she muttered.

"If not, we figure sumthin' out, baby. Where deys a will deys a way. Come now, Iris, dahhling!" he switched his accent, "let us enjoy the company of high brow snobs."

"You are going to get us in trouble, Robert," she smirked.

"You promise?" he laughed.

O . . . O . . . O

"Marcus Ifans?" the soft, purring voice of the exquisitely beautiful platinum blonde interrupted his scanning of the crowd.

He blinked in surprise and quickly hid the reaction with a sly grin. His hand slipped into her warm touch, fingertips gently caressing her palm before he shook it.

"I am, indeed," he answered in his Welsh accent. "And you would be?"

"Ophelia Van Buren, heiress to the Van Buren jeweler estate," she stated with open pride.

"Is that so? Well met, Ms. Van Buren. Would I be so bold as to proclaim you the loveliest lady in my presence?"

Emma laughed and batted her false lashes.

"That is quite a bold statement, Mr. Ifans, but I am flattered by your proclamation. It's a wonder we had never met before today."

"Yes, Ms. Van Buren, it is."

"Ophelia, please," she leaned in closer, a hand strategically placed on his forearm. "I understand you are somewhat of an expert on ancient Roman artifacts. I must reveal to you a secret."

Ifans swallowed the hard lump in his throat and felt his blood heat as she leaned in again and whispered in his ear.

"I love a man who has passion!"

He moved his head and realized that he was mere inches away from her beautiful mouth. She was good!

"Perhaps I could show you a few items of interest?"

Her crystalline blue grey eyes sparkled with mischief and intent.

"Oh, I bet you could, Marcus."

O . . . O . . . O

Ada picked nervously at her cuticles to the point that Remy noticed her nervous habit and took her hand into his.

"Let's go dance, darlin'," he whispered in her ear.

"Remy, I can't dance-" she protested weakly but found herself gently led onto the small makeshift dancefloor before the jazz band.

"I teach you," he smiled and placed one hand at the small of her back.

Around them were other couples dancing amateur versions of the foxtrot.

"You jus' follow my lead, 'kay?"

She nodded and stared down at his feet as they began, counting the rhythm as they went. Her chin was tilted up and she stared up at his concealed eyes, noticing the unnatural gleam of the contacts behind his sunglasses.

"Don' watch down dere. Let your body do th' thinkin'," he coached in a soft voice.

She blushed and snickered at her bashfulness. She had been naked in front of him, allowed herself to be comfortable enough to let him sit on the toilet next to her while she bathed in the hotel bathtub; but to be shy about dancing with him? This was a new kind of intimacy, she realized, a new form of vulnerability. It was also incredibly sexy and almost erotic to watch his body move with such grace and poise while dressed as he was.

And that's when she realized that perhaps he may have been teasing about the beauty versus brains team-up the day before, but there was some hard evidence to back that up. He was beautiful. It took her a second to realize that when the day ended, and the identities were dropped, she would still be with him. And there was a certain amount of hubris she felt knowing that she was with this attractive man.

Her hand slid up his forearm to stop just below his elbow.

Remy smiled brightly, pearl-white teeth flashing in the sunlight. He held her tighter and swayed more to the music. When the song ended, the crowd clapped in appreciation. He took the opportunity to give her a quick kiss on the lips. She laughed quietly and brushed her hand against his cheek.

"Dat calls for some champagne. I'll go track us down a couple glasses," he offered.

She nodded and stood back from the floor to wait beside a dolphin-shaped topiary.

"Excuse me, dear," a woman spoke up to her in a British accent.

"Yes?" she smiled at the tall, red-dressed older lady who approached.

"That fine, young gentleman is your husband, is he?"

Ada's stomach fluttered nervously.

"Yes," she answered, hoping that her smile didn't register as a big, fat lie.

"You two look so lovely on the dancefloor, so very happy! My best wishes go to you, Mrs.," the woman prompted.

A swelling of pride took over the anxiety and she smiled as she glanced over at Remy who was chasing down a champagne server. For the second time that day she wished that the role she played wasn't a lie, that she really was this lucky woman she was trying to portray. She offered her hand to the woman and nodded to Remy who was returning with their drinks.

"Dr. Iris Lord. And this is my husband Robert."

"Mr. Lord," the voice of McDougal immediately ended her moment of happiness. She slowly turned around and tried not to narrow her eyes as she looked up at him. Remy's hand dropped protectively to her shoulder.

The Texan flashed her an arrogant smile beneath his trimmed red mustache and held out a hand to her.

"Would a fine gennlman as you look to be mind if Ah took your lovely wife for a spin on th' dancefloor?"

"I believe you should be asking her and not me," Remy shot back.

"In that case, Dr. Lord, may Ah have this dance?"

Several witnesses stopped to watch, with open interest, to see if she would politely accept the request or deny him and embarrass both of them and feed the rumor mill with new information. In order to keep questions from surrounding them, she had no choice but to take his hand.

A slow waltz began to play. Ada kept as much distance as was possible between them while they began to move, clumsily and uncomfortably in her case.

"Ah know what you are," McDougal grinned wickedly.

Her stomach dropped and cramped. Her hand nearly slipped from his due to the sweat that built up in her palm. She stared at him in fear, her jaw clenched so tightly her head began to ache. Had their covers been blown?

"Excuse me?" she asked in a weak whisper.

"Your eyes. Ah don't see a ring 'round yer irises to suggest contacts, which means they're your natural color. Yer a mutant!"

She wanted to breathe out in relief, but a new fear rose. Was he the type to shout out to the gathering that she was a freak?

"Your point?" she threw back in defense.

"Mah comp'ny's very interested in developin' a formula that will allow humans to experience similar effects from the mutant x-gene. Give us regular people a chance t' feel what it's like t' have abilities, is that what y'all call it? Matter of fact, we're lookin' fer volunteers who are willin' t' let our scientists study their genetic make-up."

Her hand slipped out of his. She glared harshly at him and stepped back.

"Are you serious?"

"Thought you people would like the idea of havin' more of your kind around, seein' how yer always fightin' fer equal rights fer mutants an' all that."

"You're a monster!" she hissed and returned to Remy's side, grabbing her clutch from his hands.

"We're leaving!"

Remy looked over at McDougal who remained on the dancefloor with a lost expression on his face then back at Ada who was marching through the gardens toward the dock.

"What happened?" he asked as he followed her.

She sent a hurried text to Emma's phone telling her that they had to go.

"That bastard is sick! He wants to experiment on mutants so he can give humans the ability to develop talents! I'm not sticking around another second to let him harass me!"

Remy spun on his heels and stared with anger at the tall man. Small holes began to burn through the brown-irised contacts, slowly revealing the red glow he attempted to conceal.

"Dat prick need t' be taught a lesson, oui?" he whispered as he reached into the tuxedo jacket and drew out a card from the inner pocket. The tips of his fingers sparkled with pink light, coaxing the dormant energy within the cardstock to come alive.

He was stopped when Ada's cool touch covered his hand. Sharp jolts of static pinched them both but her fingers stayed.

"Not here, sweetheart," she shook her head.

He relaxed and pulled the energy back out of the card before tucking it away.

"Do we wait for Emma, den?" he asked as he watched her read the new message on her phone.

"No. She's still with Ifans. We'll go back to the resort and she'll find her own way back."

They boarded the smaller boat that was used to take passengers back to Paradise Island and waited for departure. It wasn't nearly as nice as the yacht used to bring guests to Ifan's private island, but Ada didn't mind one bit. The further away from McDougal, the happier she knew she would be. She looked down at her left hand and pulled the bright diamond off her finger before handing it over to Remy.

"What dis for, chere?" he asked.

"For whoever needs it. I'm sure Iris would appreciate it if you found a family who could put it to good use."

A light smile pulled on his lips. He held her close to his side and watched the island disappear from his sight.

"Your wish is my command," he promised.

*edited by the super talented barbex!

*"Cho! Co!" is Cajun French for "Wow!" or "Holy Shit!"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: The Bahamian Job

Emma had her fingertips pressing gently against Remy's temples, her eyes locked on his. Remy's face was relaxed in a trance, jaw slacked and eyelids drooping as he watched the images the telepath sent to his brain.

"A long hallway, very tall ceiling," she whispered. "To the left is a small but formidable library. To the right is the gallery. He has everything arranged by importance and chronological order. The oldest items are further back. He uses a number code to enter the room. "

Once she arrived back at the resort, nearly an hour after Ada and Remy left the party, they began preparations for the operation. Remy traded the tuxedo for skin-tight black clothing and thin-soled shoes, leaving the garish magenta breastplate and silver banded boots in his luggage. He had removed the "humanizing" contacts, which had been melted around the pupils from his short brush with his temper, and freed himself from the discomfort. It made his eyes water profusely. As he allowed himself to be locked into Emma's telepathic hold, rivers of cleansing tears dripped down his face.

Ada gently dabbed his cheeks free of the water, worrying for him. She knew that Emma was quite experienced in linking minds with others, especially mutants, and Ada had even done so enough with other telepaths, but Remy's mind proved to be more difficult. There was a natural static-filled blockade keeping Emma from making immediate contact which meant she had to dive deeper into the neural pathways. The result was a kind of paralysis and a semi-catatonic state which left him unable to move or react.

"The Hyacintho Clavis is near the end of the gallery in a small Plexiglas case," Emma whispered again. "Do you see it?"

Remy blinked slowly, more tears dripping from the corners of his eyes. "Yeah," he murmured.

"I'm going to release my hold on you. I want you to tell me, immediately, if you feel odd or if there is any bit of memory loss. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Slowly, she moved her hands away from his face and carefully drew her consciousness out of his brain. Remy blinked and smiled widely as he stood up. The attempt had him stumbling clumsily which forced him to drop down onto his bed.

"Merde!" he cursed. "I feel like I drank a fifth of tequila! What you put in dat link, Em?"

"Give yourself five minutes of not moving. The feeling should pass," she suggested. "You were able to see everything I gave you?"

"C'est cristal, Queenie," he groaned. "All th' bells an' whistles."

"Remy, I'm going to give you this," she placed a small inner ear transmitter onto the nightstand. "Don't worry; it's a simple comm system. It's nothing that will give you another headache. I'll be able to hear each of you but can't respond back. I'm going to my room and get ready for this evening. Ada, you have everything you need?"

Ada nodded as she scooted over next to Remy, cradling his throbbing head in her lap. She stroked her fingers through his long locks, easing both him and her in the process. Here and there she spotted strands of bright silver hiding within the thick thatches of chestnut brown.

"I guess so. Go hide with the kayak and wait for the signal," she gave Emma a "thumb's up".

"And you don't mind waiting in the ocean? It may be a while."

Ada shot her a petulant regard. "Now just stop and think for a second, Frost; who are you asking this particular question to? I am fish people."

"I am only asking because I care, darling. Remy, I'll contact you when I reach Ifan's place."

She watched Emma exit the room then looked back down at Remy who was showing signs of improvement.

"Dat sucked!" he groaned and blinked rapidly. "Remind me t' not do dat again."

"Other than a headache, anything else bothering you? And you have to be honest with me."

He made an "okay" gesture with his fingers. "Pas mal, baby. Think I gonna live for another day."

The sound of her phone alerting her to read an instant message drew her attention away from him momentarily.

"Scott said he can send the Blackbird to collect us tonight," she said as she sat down the device. "Beast and Storm will meet us."

His hand came up to caress her cheek.

"I'm sorry you got involved in dis mess, mon Coeur. It's not fair t' you."

"How so? It was my choice to come along."

"You said you didn' wanna use your manipulation talent, an' I made ya back in N'Awlins. You also said you wanted t' go back home an' rest, an' instead you're here forced t' be a part of sumthin' illegal."

"I'm doing what I must to stop the Brotherhood from hurting others. If that means I'm placed in uncomfortable situations, then so be it. My anxieties are the least of our worries. There are more important and dire things than my personal issues."

"Dat may be true, but not t' me. If you say you okay den I'm with you. I think my head is startin' t' feel better. We should get ready, too," he suggested and slowly sat up, eyes crossing as he felt his head throb slightly.

Ada sighed and glanced over at her suit resting on an armchair.

"Remy," she began, not even completely sure of what she was going to say. "If things, um, if something happens, something goes wrong, such as if the police are called or you get caught, I'm, I just wanted to say -" she stammered.

He stopped her with a kiss.

"We don' do dis, cherie, okay? I trust you. I love you. Now, suit up, my Tsunami. Time t' get our game faces on."

O . . . O . . . O

They watched Emma board the small speedboat Ifans sent for her then headed for the beach. In his one-piece outfit, Gambit didn't look any different than a man wearing a wetsuit unless someone stopped to take the time and notice that the fabric wasn't neoprene. But, luckily, there were few people walking along the coast as the sun began to set meaning that they wouldn't garner too much attention as they drug the double sea kayak into the surf.

"Look at dat sky, baby!" Gambit said as he looked up and noticed the brilliant splash of colors caused by the sunset. "Tres belle, non?"

Tsunami stopped rowing and followed his sight, sighing in adoration.

"Very much so, sweetheart," she smiled.

"Would you ever go somewhere wit' me?"

She turned around, a frown of confusion marring her features.

"What do you mean?"

Gambit shrugged and continued to paddle through the low waves toward Ifans' private island.

"Well, let's jus' say sumthin' like I book us a trip t', oh, I dunno, Paris or Rome or maybe somewhere in th' Swiss Alps where we can spend hours upon hours lookin' at each other and then wonderin' when th' hell we gonna git home 'cause we tired of lookin' at each other," he flashed a grin. "We didn' getta chance t' start dis relationship th' way either of us wanted, an' be honest, chere, I know you thinkin' dat 'cause you strike me as secretly romantic."

"Maybe a little. But no one could have predicted what happened. Besides, we're kind of on vacation now. I got to roleplay as a rich, successful entrepreneur married to a fine specimen of man approved for the female gaze, and now we're kayaking across the ocean as the sun sets."

"You objectifyin' me, now?"

"Every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man," she quoted.

"Dis no vacation," he laughed. "Not what I would want for you. You deserve t' hang out in a big castle with a whole squad of butlers an' maids t' wait on you. Make you feel like a princess."

"Honestly, I just want to curl up on a big, fluffy rug next to a warm fireplace with a good book and waste time that way."

"Please, tell me dat clothes are optional an' you don't read th' whole night. I might get lonely, lookin' ridiculous and struttin' in th' nude while you ignore me for some dead poet's pretty words."

Tsunami blushed brightly, thankful that the setting sun hid her red cheeks. Mental images of him prancing before her like a proud turkey without a stitch of clothes on his body nearly made her laugh out loud.

"I think we're getting close to the island," she announced. "Are you sure you can do this?"

"Absolument! Dis gonna be nuthin'. Jus' a lil exercise t' keep my instincts sharp."

They paddled the boat to the far side of the island in hopes that no one would see them. Luckily, the light faded from the sky just in time. Gambit jumped out of the kayak, gave Tsunami a quick kiss, then began to run along the coast toward Ifans' house. He pulled on the tight black headdress, taking a second to tousle his hair toward the right side of his face.

"Gambit!" Tsunami called quietly, causing him to turn around. "Be careful, okay?"

He blew her a kiss before running out of her sight.

Sighing wearily, Tsunami paddled back out in search of an appropriate place to wait for Gambit's signal.

O . . . O . . . O

The security set-up was so simple that he thought maybe Ifans was inviting thieves into his personal gallery. The only security blockade he found at the collection's door was a simple number pad. Carefully, he placed a finger on the outside of the keys and lit up a faint charge to the device. Everything glowed a soft pink light except for two keys where the bacteria from Ifans' fingers remained.

Gambit snorted and shook his head as he quickly punched 0-7-0-7 on the keypad and deftly stepped through the door.

The gallery was a large, long room with recessed lighting strategically placed so that each beam hit the exhibits with the same subtlety a spotlight has on a starlet walking the red carpet. Hanging on the walls were pieces of fine art, an odd mixture of modern with classic portraits. Beside a Keith Haring painting was a Monet piece. What appeared to be an impressive and eclectic collection really had no true organization or pattern. It was basically things that Ifans liked and displayed his "pretties" with the same reverence a museum has for priceless artifacts. The difference was that the museums had things that were worth stealing, and while Ifans did possess some items of interest, nothing Gambit noticed at first was worth his professional time. He had seen alabaster oil jars from Egypt and knew there were better specimens. A few ancient Roman coins here and there, a Georgia O'Keefe on the wall which had a vaguely feminine appeal –meaning that it would fit in rather well in an OB/GYN's examination room as a diagram for female anatomy- and a couple of old books that claimed to be bound in human skin. The thought of "people hide" made him shiver in disgust.

He knew he should've gone straight to the Hyacintho Clavis; he certainly knew where it was after Emma shot the image into his brain, but his curiosity got the better of him and he just had to look. And he was glad he did. Many of the items in the room gave him a good laugh.

He grabbed his collapsed staff off his belt and twirled it around like a baton to stave off some bored energy while he continued to gawk at the vulgar sculpture of a primitive Pan showing off an erection.

_Poor goat boy… he looks proud of his lil hard-on. _ He chuckled quietly and walked up to another carving. This one was a goddess sitting spread-eagle, fingers pulling herself open. He blushed and averted his eyes down to the floor.

_All things bein' equal, but damn!_

He sighed and decided that if he was going to get the job done he needed to get moving. But that fertility amulet hanging off the marble bust in the next case was awfully amusing. Gambit laughed again but had to commend the anonymous artist for carving the little penis with impressive detail.

_Yep,_ he decided, _Ifans is a prick. Dis collection says it all._

O . . . O . . . O

"Do you enjoy fine scotch, Olivia?" Ifans asked as he poured the rich amber liquid into the crystal glasses.

Emma sat on his sofa, playfully twisting a lock of her hair, and smiled warmly.

"I may have grown a taste for it. Although, I do have to admit, I'm far from being an expert on scotch."

He handed her a glass and sat down beside her. Slowly, he inspected her figure, his smile and lazy eyes showing his approval.

"You're a beautiful woman, Ms. Van Buren," his sing-song Welsh accent complimented. "I find myself utterly captivated by you."

She fluttered her eyes and crossed her leg to brush her knee against his.

Emma Frost was a master in the art of flirting. As a licensed therapist, she had a decent understanding of what made people tick or turned them on without having to dive into their brains. Her talent was, normally, a last resort, but certainly not seen as a handicap.

She adored the fact that she had incredible power. She had often heard people say how they wished they could read others' minds. For some telepaths, such as Charles and even Jean, it tended to be a burden. Emma, however, relished in the fact that she could turn on an inner switch in her brain and listen to secret confessions without anyone knowing. Oh, most of them were so much fun! Paranoid delusions, questions of sanity, sexual fantasies, little lies repeated until they were believed, and so on. There were a few occurrences she regretted, but on the whole she loved knowing what the rest of the world was thinking.

It was this ability that allowed her to transform into the "perfect" woman for any man she was pursuing. She knew, before even taking a peek into his mind, that Ifans liked wealthy women. That was no stretch, considering she grew up in an extremely privileged lifestyle. But he also liked women who would submit to his demands. She normally wasn't the submissive type; she preferred being the alpha in her relationships. This, however, was temporary and she was the world's greatest actress playing a fool for this idiot who was about to be robbed of an old, dusty key made of blue rock.

She took a sip of the iced scotch, her eyes locked on Ifans' as she swallowed the drink. Her smile had to be hindered as she watched his left eye twitch. Already, so soon after her arrival, she was getting him hot under his collar.

"Where are you originally from?" he asked.

"Well, currently, I live in Westchester County, in New York, but my family is from the Netherlands," she began, happy she could finally spill out this broad story she had invented the moment she was given her alias. "My father, who passed away last year, was given the company business by my grandfather fifty years ago when he, my father that is, was still a young man. For the most part, it's always been a quiet yet well-respected jewelry house. Many of our clients loved the idea of our exclusivity and privacy. But, with things being the way they are today we've seen a decline in sales to larger gem distributors. So, I decided that it was time to get the Van Buren name out in public and announce to everyone that we are a formidable establishment, second to none."

"And you are the current head of this House?"

"I am the name, the face, and the spirit of Van Buren," she purred. "I oversee every single design drawn up by our master jewelers, every precious gem brought in before, during, and after its cutting and polishing, and I greet every client during every step of their purchase to make sure that satisfaction is beyond their expectations."

"Hmm, fascinating. I find that kind of dedication to business a terribly important trait."

"The Van Buren House is more than just a business to me, Marcus," she leaned in closer. "It's my family. I've known most of the people employed there my entire life. I grew up around diamonds, rubies, and sapphires like most children grow up around relatives."

"Do you ever find yourself growing fond of a particular piece and not want to let it go?" he slipped a hand over her knee.

Emma subdued the instinctive twitch in her leg and allowed him to keep touching her.

"Of course, but I view each article as an artist would a painting. You will always love it but it must be shared with the world."

"You are an incredible woman…" he complimented, but his words were suddenly deafened from her ears when a loud but fuzzy voice came through.

_Dis place reeks of rich piece of shit! Look at dat vase. Who th' fuck would put a Ming Dynasty vase next t' a Picasso?! Tacky…_

"… this lovely little café in Vienna."

Emma shook her head and smiled apologetically at Ifans.

"I'm sorry. What were you saying? My mind suddenly started down another track."

"I said that I'll be flying out to Austria tomorrow morning and that you should join me if you're not too busy," he repeated. His hand moved further up her leg.

"Oh," she swallowed another sip of her scotch. "That's quite generous of you, Marcus, but I'm afraid I am needed to oversee a new design and it's imperative that I be present."

_Oh, Mon Dieu! Seriously? He thinks dat's from Rameses th' Second's reign? He's a bigger idiot dan I thought, or someone played him a fool. Either way, he's couyon!_

"Perhaps I could join you?" Ifans asked in a voice dripping with seduction. "I'd love to see how such an operation works."

_Yes, dat is from th' Byzantine Empire, no it is not Justinian; it's Maurice. Dis guy is a liar… Now I don' feel so bad 'bout takin' dat key from him._

"I'm afraid I can't allow that. The House has always worked in secret and I have vowed to keep that tradition alive. It's part of our custom with our clients, giving us the trust to create the most beautiful pieces. And it's also wonderful to see the looks of surprise on their faces."

_I'm too sexy fo' dis shirt, so sexy it hurrrtts, oh!_

Emma bit down on her lips to keep from laughing.

_I'm going to wring his neck! _She thought while trying to keep a straight face.

"That's commendable, I suppose. I was hoping to spend more time with you." Ifans took the drink from her hand and leaned into her, his lips brushing against her cheek.

Behind closed lids, Emma rolled her eyes. She felt his tongue flick at her jaw, sending a disgusted shiver down her back.

Ifans continue to make out with her cheek while she heard Gambit hum "Howlin' For You" in her left ear. She turned her head and met his lips in a deep, wet kiss. Once more she prayed that the thief would quicken the pace. Kissing Ifans was like snogging a big fish. It was unpleasant.

His hands crept up her shirt and groped at her breasts, and he moaned loudly.

"Oh, Olivia," he breathed against her right ear, "I want you in the worst way!"

She could only imagine how bad sex would be with him because his pick-up lines were terrible! He grabbed at her breasts as though they were bicycle horns and continued to use his tongue like a wet rag. How the hell was this idiot married so many times? Were women honestly attracted to him? It had to have been the ridiculous amount of zeros when they looked at his net worth. Money was attractive to certain individuals. Money was sexy which made the person holding the checks the most interesting man in the world.

She still couldn't understand why anyone, even after seeing the impressive bank records, would want to screw this man.

_Gambit, you had better hurry the hell up before I give this arrogant fucker a migraine that will last him a full week! _she silently pleaded.

O . . . O . . . O

It was right there. In a little case, resting innocently on a small black velvet pillow, was the Hyacintho Clavis. After all the work and stress he and the others had to go through, he was expecting the Shah Diamond. But, as he already knew, it was barely six inches long, with a fat paddle-esque tip. Seven unique lines had been carved along the edge; for what purpose he could only guess.

Carefully, he lifted the clear acrylic case off the pillar and reached for the key. He stopped just short of touching it to take another brief scan of the display. There were no pressure plates, no lasers or alarms. Shrugging to himself, he grabbed the key off the cushion and replaced the case.

_Too easy!_ He laughed quietly. _Nuthin' ever goes dis smoothly! An' with my karma dey's gotta be sumthin' bad 'round th' corner._

"I got th' key, Queenie," he announced quietly. "Imma head out an' meet Tsunami."

He flipped the key into a pocket on his belt for safe keeping and turned to begin sauntering toward the door. The sound of a low, predatory growl had him dig his heels into the carpet and freeze every muscle in his body. His red eyes widened in surprise as they focused on the large, black-furred blockade keeping him from leaving the room. The sharply pointed ears of the Doberman were pulled back tightly against its head. Long strands of drool dripped from its snarling jowls.

"Nice doggie," Gambit whispered to the animal. Slowly, he began to back away, hands out in submission.

The dog started to approach, growl becoming louder and more vicious.

"Ey, you like bones? Ev'ry dog like a bone, non? Tell ya what, podna, you let me outta here without alertin' Master Dumbass up top an' I'll send a bone your way, Express Mail. 'Kay?"

More drool puddled into the carpet.

"C'mon, Poochie, Gambit don' wanna have ta hurt ya. I like animals. I cry at dose Sarah McLachlan commercials! I swear, if ya let me live, I'll adopt a pet or t'ree!"

The dog barked loudly and bolted toward him.

The Cajun groaned and prepared for the worst.

"Dis gonna hurt."

*edited by Barbex- because she likes me for some reason...*


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Escape to New York

Ifans bolted up the second he heard the dog bark. His eyes narrowed and a sharp hiss escaped between his teeth.

"Someone's in the house," he mumbled.

Emma attempted to conceal her panic, knowing that Gambit was in trouble when she heard the one-sided conversation he held with the guard dog.

"Are you sure? Perhaps he saw a lizard crawling on the wall," she suggested.

Her eyes widened when she watched him reach behind a large painting and unlock a wall safe, pulling a shotgun out.

"Maximus does not bark at lizards," Ifans replied in derision. "He's trained to alert me only when there is suspicious activity within my property."

She stood up and approached him, eyes locked on the Beretta in his grasp.

"What if the dog is bored? I've heard that dogs will bark when they're bored."

Ifans stared at her as though she was the dumbest person in the world.

"Did you not hear me, woman? My dog is a highly-trained attack animal! And if he _is_ barking at nothing, which I seriously doubt, I will shoot him!" He racked back the gun's pump and started out the parlor door.

Emma stood in the center of the room feeling helpless. She couldn't get into Gambit's mind to warn him about Ifans. And if she didn't do something to prevent Ifans from running into the gallery to see the thief cornered by the dog then Gambit was a goner.

_I can't let you do that, Marcus,_ she sent into his brain.

Ifans turned around, eyes wide in fear, and pointed the gun toward her.

"Who are you?" he demanded and stepped closer to her. The shotgun's barrel hovered a few inches from her chest. He watched in disbelief as her body began to shimmer and sparkle. Her skin became translucent to the point he could see right through her. Brilliant fractals of light gleamed as she moved her hand to the gun's barrel and placed her fingers over the bore.

In shock, the gun fell from his loosened grasp. He continued to stare at her.

"You're a bloody mutant," he whispered. "I knew there was something odd about you."

Emma returned back to her normal form and gently placed her fingertips to his brow. A sweet smile curled up her face when she felt him flinch against her touch.

"Did you, now? Aren't we such a sharp boy?"

Ifans screamed loudly as she sent a shot of pain deep into his brain. He dropped to the ground, crying out in agony.

She threw off her heels and ran down the hall as fast as she could in hopes she wouldn't find her team mate a quivering pile of dog food. She skidded to a halt when she saw the large Doberman Pinscher leap at Gambit.

Gambit snapped open his bo and charged the long, silver staff until it glowed bright fuchsia. With heavy force, he slammed the weapon down to the ground, shaking the floor. The walls rattled and the dog cried out as it was thrown off its feet.

Emma ran across the room and stood protectively before him, her arm transforming back into diamond.

"Get going!" she warned. "I've got the dog! And watch out for Ifans, he has a shotgun!"

Nodding and waving her a quick "thanks", he took off toward the back of the house. He could hear Ifans still screaming in pain but decided to curb his curiosity.

"I like livin," he whispered breathily and threw open the back door.

His feet kicked up thick clouds of sand as he ran down the beach toward the dock. He reached into another pocket on his belt and grabbed a card. Kissing the edge of the item, he set it charging to the point it would explode upon his release and threw it high into the air. For a split-second the night sky transformed to day as the card shattered into thousands of illuminated pieces. He sat down to wait and catch his breath, murmuring to the ocean lapping around the dock's posts.

"C'mon, baby, come get me."

O . . . O . . . O

She saw the bright yellow firework light up in the air and knew that Gambit had the key. Tsunami stepped out of the kayak, carefully standing on the moving ocean. She felt the power and the energy of the water beneath her, allowed it to call and seduce her. Her breath escaped her parted lips in a low, hot breeze. The rhythm of the waves matched her heartbeat.

_Rise… _the ocean whispered. _Rise up…_

She glanced toward the shore and started to walk, slowly, while her hands balled into tight fists.

_Rise…_

Behind her the waves began to swell and grow, pushing her closer to the beach. She kept her steady pace while the ocean rose and fell beneath her feet.

_RISE…_

Higher and higher the waves expanded, curling into tall, long tubes. Her arms lifted, commanding the sea to grow.

_Down…_ she ordered and felt the tidal wave at her toes gently drop her down to the deck, complete with the kayak. She smiled at Gambit and handed him one of the oars.

"Ready to go?"

Her grin dropped when he shook his head and looked back up at the house.

"Queenie's in trouble, chere."

Her jaw slacked. "How?!" she asked in a low voice.

"I got caught," he explained with chagrin. "Ifans has a dog."

Without another word spoken, Tsunami ran to the house with Gambit following close behind. She stopped him, hands slamming on his chest, and reached into his ear for the com.

"Emma! Where are you?" she shouted into the minute piece.

A faint murmur flowed into her brain and she knew that Emma was not using her telepathy at full strength.

_I'm on my way._

Tsunami ran up the beach with Gambit in tow to see Emma bolting out the door.

"Go!" she shouted, arms waving at her friend.

The harsh crack of a gun round going off stopped her in her tracks. Tsunami watched in horror as Emma fell to the ground.

"Em!" she screamed and dropped down before her fallen comrade.

Emma rolled onto her back, revealing the large, messy wound in her shoulder. Anger and fear boiled in Tsunami's veins. She looked back up to see Ifans running for them, gun pointed in their direction. Quickly, she grabbed Emma's arms and tried to pull her back down toward the beach. Tears fell onto her hot cheeks as she heard Emma cry out from the motion.

Another loud explosion had her dropping down into a tight ball, covering Emma like a shield. When she looked back up she watched half of the gun fly into the air, bright gold and pink fire sparking from both halves.

Gambit shook his hand free of extra energy and knelt beside the two women.

"Let's go, chere! I got Queenie!" he whispered and carefully lifted Emma off the ground.

Still stunned, Tsunami glanced back over at Ifans who had retreated for the safety of his house. In her mind she could hear the cries of help from the victims of New York Bay and she froze.

"Tsunami! We gotta go, baby!"

She snapped back to reality and chased after Gambit. Once they made it down to the small dock she helped him lower Emma into the kayak. The heavy weight of panic throbbed in her gut.

"She needs a doctor," he informed, tearing off a glove to shove into the wound. "She's lucky it was a slug round an' not shot or she'd be not so alive right now."

Tsunami brushed a cold hand down Emma's face. Emma smiled weakly and kissed her fingers.

"The Blackbird?" she asked in a weak voice.

"Meeting us at a private air field on Paradise Island."

Tsunami pushed the kayak away from the dock and dove into the water. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a large wave to carry the kayak back into the ocean. She swam under the little boat, keeping the wave in an even and straight path. There was a sharp burning in her lungs as she felt the organs transform, allowing water to enter them and filter the oxygen. It made her a little light-headed but not enough to keep her from swimming.

She remained under the surface until they reached the shoreline of the next island. Gambit pulled Emma out of the kayak and refused to let her walk despite her protests. Tsunami crawled onto the beach, coughed, and spit the water out of her lungs. It was perhaps one of the more unpleasant sides to her mutation she knew.

"You can breathe unnewater, chere?" Gambit asked as he watched the water spray out of her mouth and nose.

She nodded, unable to speak at that moment. Another hard cough sent more water spewing up her throat and nostrils. God, did it hurt! She remembered why she hardly ever allowed her body to transform thusly. Slowly, she stood back up and tried to walk, feeling the strange phantom momentum of the ocean still swaying around her.

"Baby, Gambit would carry both of y'all, but I ain't that strong," he said gently.

"I can walk," she rasped and frowned at him. "Need to get luggage. Take Emma to the jet."

"What 'bout you?"

"I'll get a cab. Go."

She watched him carry Emma away before she turned on her heels and headed for the resort. There were a few odd looks she received as she walked through the lobby dressed in a wetsuit at night but she was too tired and too worried to even care. She gathered up the three bags of luggage then checked out at the front desk. A line of awaiting cabbies was standing outside the resort's main entrance. She pointed to the first man who then grabbed her luggage and showed her to his taxi.

"Here's fine," she spoke up when he was just shy of the air field's entrance.

The cabbie turned around and regarded her with confusion.

"Are ye sure, miss? I can take ya to de airport in Nassau if dat's what you need."

"No. This is good," she opened the door and handed him twice the amount of the bill for the ride. She grabbed the luggage out of the back and walked down the road where the private air field was hidden by a barrier of ivy-covered chain-link fences.

The sound of familiar voices had her finally look up from the pavement. She dropped the bags to the ground as she watched Gambit run up to her. Exhausted, and relieved, she clutched to him and let her weight drop as he lifted her up.

"Dieu merci! Vous etes bien! I was gettin' worried, chere." He planted kisses all over her face as he held her tightly.

"Emma?" she asked with worry.

"She gonna be okay, baby. Dr. McCoy said it's nuthin' he can't handle."

She nodded and breathed a deep breath of relief. Her fingers curled around his hair as she kissed his lips.

"I wanna go home."

"An' we goin', cherie amour. We goin'."

O . . . O . . . O

She refused to leave Emma's side, even when she felt a bit of turbulence in the air. Emma, however, wasn't showing as much worry as her friend, thanks in large part to the narcotics Beast had running through her IV port.

"He was the worst kisser ever. I mean ever, Ada!" the blonde snickered. "Oh, my God. It was like making out with a labradoodle! Not that I've ever French kissed a labradoodle before, but I can imagine! Terrible!"

Tsunami smiled weakly and continued to hold Emma's hand, gently stroking the soft skin in hopes it was helping her.

"Speaking of dogs, that nasty son of a bitch he used for a guard dog is now not as dangerous as he was before. Dumb little shit tried to bite my arm! Crunch! No more sharp doggy teeth! Ifans is going to have to feed him canned dog food for now on."

"Poor thing," Tsunami shook her head.

"Poor thing? Poor thing?! That 'poor thing' was about to eat your boyfriend, I hope you know. You're welcome."

Sighing, Tsunami turned toward Storm who was approaching the two women.

"How far from home are we?" she asked.

"About an hour away," Storm answered and sat next to her. "And do not worry; no major arteries were hit. She'll heal in no time."

"I feel like this is somehow my fault."

"How so?"

"Because I was the one who figured out that Magneto is looking for the Hyacintho Clavis which meant we had to go looking for it which put her in this position."

Storm's bright blue eyes narrowed.

"Did you mean for your friend to get hurt?"

"Of course not," Tsunami recoiled.

"Then it is not your fault. These things happen, and, if you want to look at it in another light, it could have been much worse. You must not force yourself to feel guilt for nothing, Tsunami. You accomplished your goal and we can move on to the next thing. With hope we can learn what it is about this key that makes it so special."

"I'm terrified of that fact," she muttered. "What kind of shit storm is this going to stir up?"

"No need to worry about that now. We will be as prepared as we possibly can. I suggest when we arrive back at the Mansion, you get some rest," Storm advised.

Tsunami nodded and glanced back down at Emma who had fallen asleep from the drugs.

"You know, when I first met her, when I came back to the school to start my job, I hated her guts. I thought she was the biggest snob in the world," a weak smile pulled on the worried woman's face. " I kept my distance from her for the longest time. But then, one day, about a week or two after I had been in the library, she came in and sat down at my desk, just staring at me. I was wondering what she was doing until she started laughing out loud. I thought she was crazy. Then she grabbed my hand and took me to the break room to give me a cup of tea. She called it a 'peace offering' and that she was only a bitch to people she didn't like. We must've spent all night talking, mostly about stupid things. I love her. She's the best friend I ever had."

Storm drew her close and let her head fall onto her shoulder.

"She'll be alright, dear," she consoled.

Tsunami wiped the tears off her face and sniffled back the rest.

"I hope so."

O . . . O . . . O

The Team returned back to the X-Mansion shortly after midnight. With the Hyacintho Clavis secured in a safe and Emma rushed to the medical bay, the rest of the X-Men were dismissed for the evening.

For the first time in ages, Ada felt lost. She was told to go to her room after Emma and the medical staff assured her everything would be okay. Instead of going to her personal quarters, she retreated to the library and sat at her desk. She grabbed a returned book off the cart and opened it up to take out the due date card. In seven days her whole world had changed. She found herself in a serious relationship- one where she should've told herself she was clinically insane to allow herself to fall into-, she put herself back on the Team after she vowed to never get involved anymore, and she watched her best friend get hurt.

The book, a copy of The Deathly Hallows, was held tight to her chest while she stared absently through the neat stack of papers she had left from the last day she was in the library. She was tired but couldn't find rest. Her brain's train of thought raced a million miles a minute while she tried to process the fact that she was finally back home.

"You should be in bed," Jean's voice interrupted the silence.

Ada looked up and watched her enter the dark shadows of the large room.

"And do what? Sleep?" she shook her head. "That's not happening."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"No. I think I'm still in shock."

Jean gently took the book from Ada's grasp and placed it onto the desk.

"Well, even if you don't sleep, you should go to your room and try to relax. I think just being in your personal space will make you feel better. Okay?"

She was helped up from her seat and led toward her room. Once inside her quarters, Ada pulled off the tight suit and sat on her bed devoid of any clothing. In the corner of her eye she spotted the red rose Remy gave her last week. The petals were beginning to crinkle and dry into a dark violet color. She walked over to the small table where it lay and lifted it to her nose. The spicy perfume still lingered within the flower mingling with the scent of dried foliage.

She glanced back over at her bed, with the sheets still messed up from where she never fixed them before leaving, and shivered. It looked so cold and offered no comfort. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of Remy. Was he asleep? Would he mind if she interrupted his privacy?

Not answering her own questions, she grabbed her pale pink satin robe- a gift from Emma- and walked out of her room toward the stairs. Remy's room was one floor up where the "temporary" rooms were located. This particular part of the Manor served as guest rooms for visiting Team mates or parents of the students when they were researching the school. Only a few rooms were occupied, including Remy's.

She pressed her ear to the door and heard that his television was on what sounded like a science documentary. There was the slightest bit of hesitation before she knocked on the door.

"Yeah," his voice carried over the background noise.

Ada pushed the door open and glanced upon his form faintly illuminated by the TV's light. He smiled gently and waved her in.

"You alright, chere?" he asked, scooting toward the right side of his bed to offer her a place to sit.

She stared down at her hands, wringing her fingers over and over before she began to speak in a weak, distant voice.

"I went to the library, and I was going to start working. At one o'clock in the morning I was about to go through the returned books. Jean caught me, told me to go to my room and calm down. So, I did but I didn't want to be there. My room, which is usually my sanctuary, suddenly became the most uncomfortable place in the world. My bed looks like some lonely island. I've never considered myself a codependent person. I like being around the people I consider my friends but I like being alone. Even in my past romantic relationships I looked forward to the time I had to myself. At least, I used to. Until I met you."

She met his eyes with an unabashed stare.

Remy sat up and tried to motion her to him again but dropped his hands down to his lap when she didn't move. He bit on his lips as a wave of discomfort crept over him.

"I don't let people into my life as quickly as I have you," she continued. "Even my closest friends had to take some unknown test until I was sure I could trust them. You're someone that, typically, I wouldn't care for. You're arrogant, flirtatious, egotistical, and a bit of a show-off. But you're also kind, and generous, and so open-hearted that those other traits are not nearly as glaring as I once thought. I've been in love before, a couple of times actually, and, even then, I mentally listed pros and cons before deciding that I could allow myself to become emotionally involved."

Slowly, she approached him and untied her robe. The satin slid off her arms and pooled on the floor before she crawled onto the bed. She straddled his lap, brushing his long bangs away from his face before kissing him deeply.

"I don't want to be alone anymore."

Remy drew off his boxers and pulled her beneath him. They kissed again, a lingering embrace that made Ada's heart ache. The stress and fear, anger and loneliness she had been trying so hard to diminish and hide behind a wall of stoicism and fake smiles broke forth from her in fat tears. She held tightly to him as he touched her body. His thumbs wiped the rivulets of saline from her cheeks. She pressed her lips against his palm, kissing the calluses built up from years of hard work.

Wanting someone was, she knew, purely physical. She didn't feel shame for wanting him the way she did. Hell, the second she saw him hanging off the door jamb of the kitchen entrance that very first night she knew she wanted him; he was "lust in the flesh" in her eyes. But, as cliché as it sounded, and as much as she hated to admit how true the saying was, a book should never be judged by its cover. There was so much more beneath Remy's handsome exterior; there was sensitivity, empathy, frailty, a deep longing to be accepted. He willingly put his heart on his sleeve when it came to gaining her affections.

The wanting suddenly made way for needing, and it swelled deep within her soul like a great balloon. She needed him.

It meant she knew that she could finally admit what he had been expressing in his feelings for her for days. She loved him. Deeply, passionately, with more certainty than she had ever had before, she loved everything about him. She loved the way he would show-off, how he made her laugh, the gentle way he would hum blues songs before they fell asleep…

Her back arched as she felt him enter her. A soft murmur escaped her lips. She gripped to his back, pulling him tight to her body and locking him in place. Her nails raked over the thick lines of his muscles, feeling him move in and out with the same rhythm she experienced with the ocean. She breathed him in deeply, tasted the skin at his throat. The faint tinge of cologne mixed with the salt of his sweat, a masculine and addictive sensation that sparked on her tongue.

The murmurs changed to moans of pleasure and she felt the heat begin to rise in her groin. She opened her eyes and fixed her sight onto his. Eyes of the devil, according to some paintings and folklore… eyes of red. She knew several others had looked upon him and showed apparent fear just because of the strange mutant trait. And, she had to admit, it took some getting used to looking at him and seeing the bright crimson glow staring back at her. But now… as she lay there in his arms she saw beauty, desire, and love.

The pace picked up. Her hands slid down to grip to his hips. She whispered his name and brushed her lips against his jaw. Another surge of the hot/cold sensation of arousal ran up and down her body, and she clenched her teeth to fight the urge to cry out loud. The sound that emerged from her lips escaped in a low, satisfied sigh.

"Remy," she panted and pulled his mouth to her lips.

Tongues danced into a quick, slick tango. His teeth nibbled gently on her bottom lip, the slightest bit of pain to add to the pleasure.

"I love you," she admitted.

Remy smiled brightly and stopped moving as he brushed his fingers through her hair.

"I love you, too."

*edited by super awesomeness lady person barbex!*


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Same As It Never Was

*Trigger Warning! Descriptions of Anxiety Attack and PTSD.

* * *

She wanted things to return to normal; to be able to walk into the library and complete her tasks as she always had done. But as she opened her eyes and looked over at her lover, who appeared to be sound asleep, she realized that that particular wish was now impossible.

There are moments in life that forces one to take a different route, tread down a path that is covered in debris and thick with fog. She could've stayed back at the manor while the team went after Magneto, but would they have found the key? She could've declined Remy's request for a date, but that would mean they never would have found love in each other. Things would've remained the same… Or would they have? Could things have been worse because she chose to stay neutral?

The philosophy that filtered into her brain caused a small headache. She sat up and stretched her arms, glancing at the alarm clock on his bedside stand. 5:42, it read. There was no reason to go back to sleep.

A warm hand brushed down her back, playing with the long strands of hair.

"Mornin', baby," Remy cooed and scooted himself closer to her. He passed his lips against the base of her spine.

"Hey," she replied weakly, forcing a smile on her mouth.

"You gonna have ta leave me, huh?"

"Yeah. I have a lot to catch up on."

"'Kay," he nodded and sat up. "Think I'm gonna get down ta th' store an' pick up a few things. Can I get anythin' for ya?"

"I'm good, thanks," she stood up and retrieved her robe from the floor. She was about to walk out of the door when he spoke to her.

"Ada," he began, "I know we never got much of a chance ta talk about our pasts an' such. You said you've been in love a'coupla times, an', ta be blunt, so have I. You know 'bout Belladonna. After her dey was a few others dat I thought I loved as much as her…"

"Remy, you don't have to…"

"Non, non, lemme finish, chere. I never knew if dey loved me back. One girl, when she found out dat I was a thief she broke it off completely. Anodda girl was trainin' ta be a nun so she lef' me for th' Church. An' I don' have any sour grapes toward her, but it hurt. You, dough, you th' first woman I've been with who admitted to lovin' me back. An' it may sound silly, an' I may be comin' across as some love-sick fool who don' know nuthin', but you tellin' me last night that you do love me… Mon Dieu, baby, made me feel like th' happiest sonuvabitch in dis whole wide world. Even if sumthin' happens where we don't work out I'll never forget dat you said dat t'me."

Ada looked at him and felt her heart throb, almost painfully, as she thought about how she admitted her love for him. The lovers of her past never affected her in this way. Even Riff, whom she was about to marry until his infidelity was revealed, didn't make this much of an impact. Why was Remy so different? Just what was it about him that made her fall in love so deeply? She didn't really share much of a kinship with him; their lives were very different. And she had lived through her younger days by dating a "bad boy" type, so she couldn't blame immaturity. She knew Remy to be charming, suave, a bit of a goofball, but, most importantly, terribly kind. And perhaps that was why, she figured. She had met far too many cruel and distant people who lived within their own selfish bubbles to ever care about anyone else. There was a massive lack of empathy within the world.

But not Remy. He allowed himself to be vulnerable with arms wide open. There wasn't much he hid from her. He trusted her.

"Last I heard the faculty and the students were going to start decorating the Great Hall for the Spring Formal tomorrow night. If you're interested, I'm sure they'd appreciate the help. I got sucked into volunteering, so…" she shrugged.

"Sure, I help. Got nuthin' else ta do," he smiled.

"Okay. I'll see you then."

"Oui, chere. Je t'aime."

A wry grin pulled on her lips as she slipped through the door. "I know," she winked and walked out. Three steps into the hallway she heard him calling back.

"Did you jus' Han Solo me?!"

She chuckled and walked briskly back to her room, praying that she didn't come across anyone while only wearing the thin satin robe.

O . . . O . . . O

It never helped keeping things secret. With most "normal" people news traveled fast and spread like wildfire. But in a school for mutants, where many had the gift of telepathy, news didn't just travel fast; it broke the speed of light.

Ada walked down the hallway toward the library, and noticed that she wasn't just being watched by the students, who just happened to be up early, but gawked at like she was a starlet stalked by the paparazzi. Whispers hissed around her. Shifting stares pierced into her soul.

She opened her mouth to scold those who were hiding in the corners, and she knew they were there because she caught a glimpse of Misty's bright pink hair, when the stares moved from her to the new shadow lining the hall.

Charles wheeled toward her, but his eyes were locked on each student.

"I would like everyone to meet in the main lobby this morning. There are a few things I need to address," he spoke before turning around and heading back down the hall for the elevator.

_Professor, is Emma-_ she thought loudly for him to pick up.

A gentle calm entered her mind and she felt herself relax.

_Emma is fine, my dear. She's healing quickly. She's lucky you and Gambit were there._

She nodded and unlocked the door. Once inside, she leaned weakly against her desk, trying to control her emotions and panic. She wanted to crawl beneath its confines and hide away. Dread settled deep in her soul and she felt the walls of the wide, open room beginning to close in on her. She gasped like a fish out of water. Her hands clawed at the high collar of her shirt, ripping the mother of pearl buttons from the thin fabric.

_Screams from the people who had fallen out of the boat…_

_The wave growing higher, barreling toward the shore…_

_The glowing red eyes of the Sentinel met her stare as it came closer, hand reaching down into the water…_

_Emma screaming, falling to the ground as the gunshot cracked through the air…_

Ada dropped to the floor, nails raking deep into the carpet, and fought the anxiety attack. She reached one hand back to grab hold of the shelf but instead dropped several books down around her. Her lungs burned and her head spun from the lack of oxygen.

"I can't do it…" she whispered. Hot tears raced down her pale cheeks. "I can't do it anymore!"

The door opened and Jean rushed in. She knelt down next to Ada and began to coach her back to normality.

"Ada, take a deep breath. Come on, hun, breathe! Look at me and take a deep breath."

Ada lifted her head and stared at Jean through the wall of tears, her friend's face transformed into a Picasso painting from the water. Her body shook.

The door opened again and a young male student was stopped in his tracks at the sight of Ada breaking down. Jean smiled weakly.

"Jimmy, could you please wait outside? Ms. Gregg isn't feeling well."

After the student walked away, she helped Ada stand and halfway carried her out into the hall. Several students watched the two women walk toward the stairs, not a word spoken from anyone.

"I'm fine," Ada murmured when they reached the medical bay.

Jean sat her down on a stretcher and covered her with a blanket then switched on an oxygen machine.

"No, you're not. Take this, breathe slowly from it, and try to relax. If you want to, lay down. I'll tell Hank you're in here," she handed her an oxygen mask before starting for the door.

"I didn't even get my coffee," Ada spoke in a weak voice. More tears ran down her face.

Jean offered her a tight hug, rubbing her back in a soothing motion.

"I'll get you some, okay? And don't worry about the library. Misty's been in charge the past week and has been doing a great job."

She left the room, and Ada dropped back onto the stretcher in a tight ball, oxygen mask pressed lightly against her nose. The images that caused the panic to take over haunted her every time she tried to close her eyes.

Moments later the door opened again and Logan entered with her coffee mug in his hand. She sat up and huddled to the back corner of the stretcher.

"I ran into Jean and she said to bring this to you. She had to go talk to Charles."

The mug was placed down on a nearby tray. He stepped back and regarded her with concern.

"What happened?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I don't know. Just got caught up with everything that's happened."

"You're not used to being with the Team, Ada. Instead of weaning yourself back into it, like you know you should have, you jumped into the deep end." He shifted on his feet and began to grumble. "I blame that fucking Cajun. Pushing you to impress him."

Ada's eyes narrowed. "I did not join the Team to impress Remy! I joined thinking that I could help find out what Magneto was after! Don't you dare peg blame on him!"

"Look at what's happened to you since he showed up here!" he growled. "He's got you right under his thumb just like he wants! He's a user, Ada, a hypnotic psi and he's targeted you. Probably got you under some kind of charm influence, because that's what he did to those cops in New Orleans."

Ada blinked in confusion and dropped the mask out of her hands.

"What are you saying?"

"You haven't been acting like yourself and it started when he showed up here. You used to be selfless and care for, er, others, but now it seems all you care about is him. Kind of odd, don't you think?"

"Bullshit! I care about everyone here! My God! I nearly lost my mind with worrying for Emma just now!" she clutched a hand at her chest as she felt her lungs ache for air.

"This is different. You spend almost all of your time with him, barely leave his side," Logan grumbled.

"Are you jealous? Angry because I chose him over you?! That was one fucking night, Logan, and we both used each other!" she snapped with venom.

"I didn't use you! I wanted you! Fuck! I still want you!" he admitted.

Ada's cheeks flushed a dark red. She pointed a finger toward the door.

"Get out," she seethed.

Logan's eyes filled with sorrow and regret. His shoulders drooped.

"Adaliah, I'm sorry. I never… my temper gets the best of me," he muttered and rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to meet her eyes. "You know that. But, still, I'm telling you the truth. Gambit can charm people and get them to do whatever he wants. I'm afraid that's what he's done to you."

"Get the fuck away from me, Wolverine!" she yelled.

Without saying another word, Logan exited the room. Ada stared at the door and hated him. How dare he accuse Remy of manipulating her? How dare he admit he desired her? He did the same thing to Jean and it made things stressful for her and Scott. Logan seemed to make a habit of wanting women he couldn't have. She wasn't about to let him ruin things for her and Remy.

But what if what he said was true? Was that the reason why she fell for Remy so quickly; was he only using her? Exhausted by the panic attack and arguing with Logan, she fell back down on the stretcher and laid still, oxygen mask covering her nose.

O . . . O . . . O

Emma sat down on the stretcher and placed a hand on the knee of the sleeping woman. Ada woke with a snort and glanced at her through nearly closed eyes.

"Em. Why are you… should you be out of bed?"

"I needed to walk, and Hank told me you were in here," she answered. "You okay, darling?"

"No," Ada shook her head. "I don't know anymore. I thought I could handle being back on the Team, but…"

"Ada, if it wasn't for you being there to help rescue me, I probably wouldn't be alive. Things happen. That's the nature of the beast and a risk we all take when we're on missions. You were brilliant! You're invaluable to us."

"I can't do it anymore, Em. I can't go back on the Team or I'll just drive myself crazy. Why did I even do that?"

"Because you knew you could contribute, and I applaud you for that. You were so very brave to stand up and volunteer," she ran a hand through her friend's golden brown hair.

"I'm afraid there may be another reason. Logan was here," Ada revealed. "He told me that Remy can- he can control people with charm. Is that true?"

Emma studied Ada's face for several seconds before slowly nodding her head.

"Yes, it is."

"What if what I'm feeling for him is a lie?" tears filled her eyes. "What if he's making me love him?"

"I have wondered that myself. And, in all honesty, I am not sure I can completely trust Remy knowing that he has that ability. But he did save my life," Emma shrugged.

Ada ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to soothe herself.

"Logan still isn't over you," Emma observed.

"Just like he isn't over Jean or Betty or any woman he's ever been around for more than a minute. If I had known he would use one night as some kind of blackmail device…" she sighed wearily. "I was weak. And he was there."

"You're not weak, my dear. You're a human being. It happens to most of us. And he's always jealous of the men who are with the women he has developed feelings for. He's a very lonely individual but will never admit it."

"It still makes me wonder if what's happening with Remy and me is real or some illusion. Right now, if you asked me how I feel, I'd tell you without hesitating that I love him. But how long will that last? Is there a time limit to his ability? Distance? I'm tired of my heart getting broken by dishonest men."

"You could always try a relationship with a woman," Emma suggested, causing Ada to snicker.

"No. If this doesn't work out I'm going down the spinster route. I even have the clothes for it."

The two laughed at the joke, and Ada began to drift back to her normal content self.

The door opened to reveal Remy wearing a worried expression and carrying a small bouquet of yellow roses. Ada's smile faded and her stomach pulled into tight knots.

"Wuz comin' down ta see Queenie," he motioned to the flowers, "but Dr. McCoy said you were here, chere. Are you alright?"

Ada looked up at Emma who gave her a brief nod of encouragement.

"I had a panic attack," she revealed. "Um, Remy, could we talk for a minute?"

His worry transformed to concern as he nodded and stepped closer to the stretcher. "Of course, we can."

Emma stood from her spot, bending down to give her friend a kiss on the cheek.

_I'll be here for you_, she sent.

"Dese for you, Em. Th' florist said dat yellow means friendship, so," he shrugged. "I almost gotcha white, 'cause, well, you like white, but, anyway. Get well soon, mon ami."

She smiled and accepted the flowers, thanking him before walking out of the room.

"So, what do you need ta tell me, chere?" Remy shoved his hands into his pockets, shifting nervously on his toes.

Ada took a deep breath and began to speak without hesitation. "Someone told me that you're a psi, and you can control people by charming them."

"Oui, I can an' I have," he admitted. "You thinkin' dat I'm doing dat ta you?"

"The thought has crossed my mind. I suppose you'll want to know who let that cat out of the bag, right?"

"Non, I don' care. I am a bit saddened ta think you'd suspect dat outta me."

"How would I know that you're being honest?" she challenged.

Remy stepped closer and placed a hand on her cheek. His eyes began to shimmer and glow with a soft, warm light, and his voice changed to a low hum, reverberating back on itself in a kind of strange echo.

"You will do everything that I say," he sang in a seductive, penetrating tone.

A feeling of euphoria crept into her mind. The urge to listen to him, to do anything for him at the expense of everything, washed over her. She lived, breathed, existed to serve him…

As soon as the odd feeling hit, it quickly washed away. She shook her head and blinked rapidly as she felt her eyes water.

"I- I don't feel any different, but there was something," she informed.

"Dat's all there ever would be. I was pushin' hard an' th' hypnosis only stayed with you for a second. I can't charm you, chere. An' even if I could I wouldn't dare. If you believe me, I am grateful fo' your trust. If you don', den I don' blame ya. But, if you want further proof, den go t' Charles or Emma or Jean an' have dem get inta yer brain. Dey'll see."

"How do you know all of that?"

"Spent some time wit someone who knew a lot 'bout mutants. Helped me in some ways; made me learn a lot 'bout myself, too."

Ada stared down at her hands, unsure of what to say.

Remy placed a soft kiss on her forehead then hugged her gently.

"Listen, I gonna go help 'Ro decorate fo' dat fait do-do t'morrow night. You know where ta find me if you need me, 'kay?"

She smiled weakly and agreed. Her heart throbbed as she heard him whisper "I love you". When he left the room she laid back down and tried to relax. Confusion still kept a firm hold on her. She didn't know who to believe despite what her heart was trying to say. For the second time that day she wished things could just go back to the way they were before.

O . . . O . . . O

"Hey, Gumbo!" Logan shouted at Remy as he passed the manor gym. "Visiting the woman you conned into fucking you?"

Remy abruptly stopped, turned on his heels, and stared at Logan with narrowed eyes. His shoulders drew up and his arms instinctively flexed.

"'Sup, podna? I'm assumin' you talkin' 'bout me, non? I mean, dey's no one else here dat you show dis much hate an' disrespect fer. An' as for Ada conned inta fuckin' me, as you so elegantly put it, I'll ask dat you show her th' respect you ain't showin' ta me. She don' deserve dat."

He turned to walk away but stopped and faced Logan again.

"Oh, by th' way, for your information, I was goin' ta visit Emma, 'til Hank said Ada was in th' Recovery Wing; y'know, ta tap dat ass, too," he snorted.

"Fuck you, Cajun," Logan grumbled and began his arm curls.

"Really? Why, I'm flattered dat you find me so attractive! But I'm afraid I'm gonna have ta decline dat offer," Remy batted his eyes mockingly.

"You're a piece of work, Bub. Cocky little bastard, walking in here and suddenly acts like he owns the whole damn place; you don't even give yourself time to adjust and you start picking up women like it's a game!"

"Mais, I think I jus' figgered out who tole Ada 'bout my psi ability! An' I also now get why you hate me so much. It's 'cause I'm taller dan you, right?"

Logan pulled off his shirt and held up his fists, prepared to fight Remy.

"C'mon, asshole, let's see how much damage you can do, eh?" he taunted.

"As much as I would love to feel my wrist shatter 'gainst yer fuckin' jaw, I will refute th' kind offer, homme. I ain't dat kinda fightin' man." He stepped closer to Logan, his long nose nearly pressing against his forehead. "Now, leave me da fuck alone, Howlett, before I make yer insides blast apart th' second I lay one lil finger on dose nice metal-encased claws of yers."

"You're lying," Logan hissed.

"Try me. Bub."

Logan reared back and, with a loud cry, launched a fist toward Remy's jaw. Remy, having the foresight to know what would happen if he didn't move, quickly ducked out of the fist's path and remained unscathed. He promptly punched him in the gut and rolled away as Logan buckled. Flipping back, he grabbed a small hand weight from the rack and charged it.

When Logan rolled over his eyes widened when he saw the five pound dumbbell glowing with a vibrant pink light held aloft over his head. Remy allowed a cruel smile to pull on his lips and he hovered closer to Logan's face.

"Bang. You dead," he snarled before stepping away. The charged energy was pulled out of the object and Remy placed it back on the rack, leaving it just as inconspicuous as he found it. He stepped over Logan who remained on the floor and walked out the door.

"Nex' time dere will be no warnin', homme. D'accord?"

Logan stayed on the ground until he could no longer see Remy. A long, graveled sigh escaped his throat and he finally sat up. He mentally cursed himself for attacking the man, wondering why he even started the fight. He was sure that, once word got out, not only did he upset Ada, who everyone protected like she was some kind of goddess in the flesh, but he also pissed off the "new guy" to the point it nearly cost him his life.

He still didn't trust LeBeau, but he figured he still liked living for the moment too much to attempt pushing his luck again. And if Gambit did have Ada under his influence, what would she do to him? It was still unclear where the boundaries of her powers ended. He remembered that tidal wave in Hudson Bay. It was big. Damn fucking big, to put it subtly. If she could do that, what else could she pull off?

He trembled and pushed the thought away as he stood back up. Lesson learned, he told himself. Someone else would have to confront the Cajun, but it wasn't going to be him. The idea of his brains exploding out of his skull from a little weight turned grenade didn't sound like much fun and it wasn't the way he had pictured his death.

* Fait do-do: Cajun French slang for a dance

*Edited by barbex... again...


End file.
